


Nightmares, The Stuff of Dreams

by Madam_Fandom



Series: J.S.L. [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Assertive John, BAMF John, Case, Computers, Confused John, Confused Sherlock, Cuddly Sherlock, First Kiss, First Love, First Time, Gen, Hurt John Watson, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Murderers, Mutual Masturbation, My First Work in This Fandom, Nightmares, Oblivious, Platonic Cuddling, Protective John, Protective Sherlock, Sexual Inexperience, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Slow Build, Slow Dancing, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-11 15:24:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 40,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7058062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madam_Fandom/pseuds/Madam_Fandom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson and Sherlock Holmes adventure...maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Are You Asleep?

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. I've seen all 3 seasons of BBC's Sherlock. This is my first attempt at a fanfic for the Sherlock fandom. Please give honest feedback on rather or not I should even bother continuing the story or stick to the Supernatural Fandom. All criticisms are welcomed but be polite.

“Sherlock.”  
  
“Mmm?”   
  
“Um, if you have already solved the case as you said, why are we here?”   
  
Sherlock remained silent. He was laying across the hotel bed, arm thrown over his eyes.   
  
“Sherlock?”   
  
Silence.   
  
John sighed heavily and pulled out his laptop to work on his blog. He still needed to finish the write up of his, no, their latest case. A Bark In The Dark. Sherlock hated the title but they were going through a particularly dry spell. John worked quietly for quite some time, making great progress with the write up.   
  
Sherlock’s phone went off alerting the room to a new text. “Sherlock your phone.” No answer of course. A couple of minutes later the phone went off again, another text. “Sherlock, it could be important.”   
  
Within the next ten minutes he had received another 3 text messages and one phone call.   
  
“Unbelievable.” John muttered under his breath. “In case you forgot Sherlock, we are here for a case.” The problem with Sherlock, you never knew if he was sleep, in his mind palace or just bloody ignoring him. John figured it must be important for someone to try to ring him so many times. John saved his blog and got up to check Sherlock’s phone himself.   
  
Sherlock was lying on his side now, facing the edge of the bed. John reached into his trouser pocket searching for the phone and came back empty handed. “Shit” John placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and gave him a small nudge. “Sherlock? I can't reach your phone and someone keeps ringing you.” John tried. No answer, so he tried again as the phone was going off again. He jostled Sherlock a little harder this time. “Sher..”   
  
Sherlock's arm reached out quickly, snaking his hand around John’s neck and pulling him down on to the bed and into an unprecedented embrace. John face was pressed into Sherlock’s chest, he sighed heavily as was his habit when he was slightly annoyed with the other man. Because of the close proximity, John was able to tell Sherlock was indeed sleep. John tested to see if he could maneuver out of Sherlock’s grasp. He didn't know why, but he wasn't keen on waking him up. He wiggled just a bit to try to worm loose, but the grip around him tightened, and Sherlock started murmuring in his sleep.   
  
“No, no...n...no. Please, no.” John instantly stilled. “Sherlock?” he said quietly. “Please, not John, take me.” Sherlock was speaking so low, John wasn't sure if he had heard him correctly. Sherlock sure as hell didn't beg. Was Sherlock putting him on? Or was he really having a genuine nightmare? The answer came barely a heartbeat later. Sherlock yelled, “Run!” and then started thrashing about in his sleep, catching John with a right hook across his jaw and knocking him off the bed.   
  
“Bloody hell!” John got up slowly rubbing his jaw. He had had enough. He leaned over Sherlock shaking him roughly, “Sherlock! Sherlock wake up this instant!”   
  
Sherlock’s eyes snapped opened and relief was evident in his still somewhat unfocused eyes. Sherlock reached up with both of his hands and pulled John back down and kissed him.   
  
John was so shocked by the action he didn't respond or react at first. When it hit him that Sherlock was kissing him and trying to pry his lips apart he reacted. He shoved hard at Sherlock's chest, successfully separating them, but unfortunately falling back on the floor again. Hard. He’d probably have a bruise by the morrow.   
  
When John stood up he was already berating Sherlock. “What the bloody hell has gotten into you! Sherlock!” Sherlock was looking around like he was lost and unsure of his surroundings, it gave John pause. “Are you alright Sherlock?”   
  
Sherlock’s gaze finally settled on John. “Did I just kiss you John?” his voice sounded deeper than usual and still heavy with sleep.   
  
John’s face went red but replied with a simple, “Yes.”   
  
Sherlock looked away. “How unfortunate.” he replied back. “Wait! Did you enjoy it?” Sherlock added.   
  
If possible John turned an even brighter shade of red. “What? Have you lost your mind? No!” John turned away, not seeing the look of hurt that briefly crossed the other man's face.   
  
Sherlock hopped up. “Well what did you want? I am assuming you did want something.”   
  
Sherlock could see John’s ears go red from his choice of words.   
  
“Your phone.”   
  
“What about it?”   
  
“Someone has been trying to ring you for the last half hour.”   
  
“Well why didn't you answer it? Really John, it could've been important.”   
  
John turned towards Sherlock fuming. “I did try! And you practically molested me in your sleep!” he screeched.   
  
“Did I?” Sherlock asked dismissively.   
  
John went and sat back in front of his laptop, intending to get back to his writing.   
  
“Splendid!” Sherlock exclaimed sliding his phone back in his pocket and grabbing his coat.   
  
John let his head drop to the table in a dramatic fashion. “Whaaaaaat.”   
  
“There’s been a murder.”

 


	2. Take Notice

 

 

John stood off to the side while Sherlock did his deductions of the scene. He really was bloody brilliant.

The victim was a female in her mid thirties. She was found inside an industrial freezer in the back of a refrigerated warehouse. This particular crime was not related to the one that had brought Sherlock and John here. The locals figured it was a clean cut case. It was simple, the vic locked herself in the freezer and died.

One of the local lieutenants had called Sherlock in, wanting to be sure about the cause of death before ruling it an accidental death. The other police were not happy about this. They just wanted to close up the case.

John and Sherlock had sort of an unspoken routine at crime scenes. Sherlock would check out the crime scene first while John stood away and observed their surroundings. The police that were on the scene were not complaining about the intrusion and hold up.

“John.” Sherlock called him over. It was his turn to have a crack at the body. John approached the body and Sherlock took a couple of steps back, giving him room and as not to influence John’s take on the body.

John looked down at the body and he couldn't help the undignified giggle that bubbled up. He glanced at Sherlock. Sherlock was giving one of his half smiles, all self assured and smug, but it held a hint of something else today. Was that pride?

“She didn't die here.” John said excitedly.

“John do try to contain your excitement, it's very indecent.” Sherlock said, giving a wink to take the edge off the reprimand.

One of the local police sauntered over, “What the hell you mean she wasn't killed here?”

“Really sir? John figured it out after only glancing at the body. I would challenge you to have another look at the body.”

“Sherrrrlock.” John dragged out his name in warning. No need to piss off the locals, plus Sherlock did underhandedly insult him, again. As Sherlock was apt to do.

“I don't need to take another look at the damn body! It's as plain as a pikestaff. She accidentally locked herself in the freezer on Friday, the warehouse was locked up over the weekend so she wasn't found in time and died.” the local police officer explained rather heatedly.

“Well, perhaps you're not as daft as you appear. You did get one thing right, her body was dumped in the freezer on Friday night. But she wasn't killed here.” The officer’s face turned beet red, but before he could speak again Sherlock did. “John, could you tell this upstanding officer what it was that alerted you to the fact that she did not die here.”

John gaped at Sherlock, he never let him explain first at the crime scenes, he liked being the one blowing everyone's mind. “Today please John.” Sherlock urged.

John stepped over to the body, and since he wasn't given any gloves, he used his pen to point at bruising on the woman's neck and hands, the only really visual skin aside from her face. “You see here, and here, the bruising is caused by the blood settling, not pumping. If she had died from hypothermia in the freezer the blood would not have pooled in the veins. Also,” John glances at Sherlock to make sure it was okay to proceed, besides, crime scenes were Sherlock's show, his time to shine. John was usually just a spectator or on more interesting cases, his bodyguard. Sherlock gave a barely perceptible nod. John gave a small lopsided smile and continued. “You see here in her hair there are bits of twig and dirt. And here, under her nails, more dirt. And considering this is a warehouse that deals with the prepping of food, I can't imagine they would allow her to work in this condition. Not to mention she isn't wearing environmental protective gear. Gloves, face mask, and hat.”

The lieutenant that had asked Sherlock along saddled up to his subordinate. “Do you agree Sherlock?”

Sherlock responded without hesitation. “I do. John was brilliant.”

John ducked his head down, he found himself blushing under the unusual praise of the great Sherlock Holmes.

“Although, he didn't explain quite the way I would’ve, nor did he point out everything, but he got all the major points.”

John sighed. He should have known there would be more said. Sherlock couldn't just say something nice and keep moving.

“If you're speaking about her broken ankle, I saw that, but didn't feel like it needed to be pointed out after the other major plot twist.” John countered with just a hint of the hurt he felt towards Sherlock at that moment. He looked up, “And if you’ll excuse me.” he said dismissing himself from the scene.

John stalked off back towards the car to wait for Sherlock.

A few moments go by and then he hears, “John! John!” Sherlock called after him, he kept walking at a clipped pace, the car was parked a good distance back from the warehouse entrance. He was now feeling more angry than hurt. When Sherlock caught up to him he grabbed John by the shoulder and spun him around. John knocked his hand off of him. “Dear god what is wrong with you?” Sherlock implored, seeming genuinely confused.

John didn't dignify that with an answer. “Just let me know when you solve the crime, I will be in the car waiting.” As he was climbing in on the passenger side, Sherlock crossed around and climbed behind the wheel. John looked at him pointedly. “I already did.” Sherlock explained. “The security officer who showed us in did it.” Just then the police lieutenant crossed their line of view with the handcuffed security guard. John looked at Sherlock again, and then away, refusing to ask him how he knew.

As luck would have it, Sherlock need no such prompting. “You see, when we first entered the warehouse…” John cut him off,

“I don't care! Shut up! Just shut up and drive.”

Sherlock looked a bit hurt by John’s refusal to listen, but he didn't speak another word. He cranked the car, shifting into gear and started the drive back to the hotel.

The rest of the car ride was cast in a strained silence. One man itching to talk and the other denying the unspoken request. John felt contrite about yelling, but why should he apologize when Sherlock never did. _Because he doesn't realize he's done something wrong._ A silent voice tried to reason with him, but John wasn't having it. He turned an unseeing eye to the scenery whipping past his window.


	3. Really?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit long, I apologize. But I couldn't very well cut it off at the crux of...well, you'll see I suppose. Thank you for reading, and if you are enjoying the story please feel free to leave a comment.

When John and Sherlock returned to their hotel room, still no words had been exchanged. John sat in front of his laptop intending to write, but the words weren't forthcoming. Sherlock sat on the edge of his bed, fingers steepled. Presumably in his mind palace.

After about an hour Sherlock stirred. “John.” John did not respond. Perhaps he had his own mind palace, Sherlock contemplated. “John, would you like to order food up?” Still no response. “Okay, well I shall order for us both.” Sherlock did exactly that.

Sherlock pulled a chair over to John. He sat there with his hands in his lap. “John don't be so, I don't know, sensitive.” John looked up at Sherlock in disbelief. Slammed his laptop shut, got up and walked towards the door to leave. “But John, I ordered dinner!” Sherlock yelled after him. John kept going. Sherlock sighed heavily. “Well then. What could I have possibly misunderstood this time.”

Sherlock was bored as he usually was in between cases. Well technically he was here on a case, but he was confident he had it solved already. He glanced at John’s computer. John may get angry. But he was bored! Sherlock jumped into John’s seat booting up his laptop. It was locked. Of course it was locked. That man was a bit paranoid. First he typed in John’s last name, **_Watson_ ** , being of military bearing and all. _Incorrect_ . Hmm, perhaps **_Capt. John Watson_**? _Incorrect._ Oh! He had it, of course **_Hamish_ ** , something most people would not know, and John abhorred his middle name. _Incorrect._ Seriously, 3 tries and wrong each time, this is worst then when he tried guessing Irene Adler's password. Oh, could it be? **_Sherlocked._ ** _Incorrect_ . Sherlock paced the small confines of the room thinking. John’s life revolved around his military career, cases with Sherlock, and well that was it right? He wasn't seeing anyone. In fact he hadn't dated any women since, oh what's her name? The doctor? No, no. A dentist? Oh who cares. It isn't a woman's name. Sherlock was back in front of the computer. Tapping his fingers impatiently. He was stumped. How in the world could John stump him? Well, honestly he stumped Sherlock all the time, but never in things that actually involved intellect. Who was John’s favorite person? Mrs. Hudson? He was quite fond of her and Lestrade. No. On a fanciful whim he typed in **_Sherlock Holmes_**. The computer screen cleared and started it's boot up cycle.

Sherlock sat up in shock. Seriously? Everyone thought they were in a relationship, that was a stupid password. People would guess that first. But knowing John the way he did, in his mind, he knew they were not in a relationship, therefore he assumed no one would guess it. Silly man.

Sherlock double clicked on the icon for his word processor. Sherlock opened up an empty document and started typing up the case he had just solved. John couldn't do it because he left before Sherlock had announced who had done it. And he was being stubborn, refusing to ask about the case. Really what was wrong with John today? Sherlock wrote up the case, in his opinion, accurately and as objectively as he saw it. He saved the document and shutdown the computer. Just then there was a knock on the door. Ahh yes, food.

Sherlock looked out of the peephole and indeed, there was a uniformed hotel employee with a food cart. Sherlock opened the door, stepping to the side allowing the person to push the cart into the room. Sherlock allowed the door to swing close and approached the cart. The employee lifted the dish covers. Sherlock grabbed his food setting it on the table and grabbed John’s food with the cover and also sitting it on the table. He straightened up, handed the employee a couple of bills and proceeded to open the door so that the person could push the cart back out. The employee stopped right outside the door, “Sir, are you sure you don't want to keep the cart to place your discarded dishes on?”

“I'm quite sure.” Sherlock closed the door in the person’s face.

He sat down at the table with his food. He picked up his fork, preparing to eat, when his gaze strayed to John’s food. He sighed, putting his fork down and reached for his phone. He sent a text to John. _“The food has arrived.”_ Sherlock waited 20 mins and there was no reply back. His appetite was now gone, but he picked at his food anyways, taking a couple of bites of each item on his plate. Finally he pushed his plate away.

Bored. Of course he was bored. John was gone. Sherlock looked at the time. It was getting pretty late, and he and John was supposed to meet up with an eyewitness in the morning. He suppose he could try to sleep.

Sherlock stripped down to his boxers. Turned off all the lights, then thought about it and crossed to the bathroom, turning the light on and pulling the door to. He climbed into the bed, laying on his back. Hands crossed over his chest.

**_~*****~_ **

John was sitting at the bar across from their hotel. Really! First Sherlock was all gracious, allowing John to explain to the police what was off about the body, praised his deductions and then shot him down. He knew he shouldn't be upset and holding it against Sherlock. Half the time he didn't even realize when he was saying something wrong.

John threw back the rest of his drink, a scotch, neat. He didn't make a habit of drinking, but Sherlock sure drove him to it at times. One would think he would drink more often considering how often he wanted to strangle Sherlock. John signaled for another drink; he had been down here for only about an hour, but he was already on his sixth drink. And when it arrived, he vowed not to knock it back like the five before it. He sat there, thinking. Thinking, his worst enemy, even though Sherlock always accused him of not thinking at all.

As he sat moping, a rather pretty lady sat next to him and ordered a Martini, also neat. She turned to John, “Hello”. John always the consummate gentleman spoke back, albeit came out slurred. “Hwelloo Misssss.” She smiled at him and scooted closer. “I have a room across the street if you're interested.” She offered. John turned and looked at her out of one eye. “Sorry Missss, I can not say that I am.” She pouted and looked slightly offended. “Oh. Okay then.” She paid for her drink and scrambled off.

Bloody hell, that was rude of him, wasn't it? He could have at least paid for her drink. Sherlock must be rubbing off on him.

Again. His thoughts came back to Sherlock. Bloody bastard. John's mind brought back up the uh, unusual situation from earlier this evening. Sherlock kissing him. What was that all about? His lips seemed to remember vividly the feel of Sherlock’s lips, they tingled in response. It was rather pleasant actually! Dear god, he must be good and sloshed to be thinking like that. Screw it. He tossed back his drink. Placed bills on the counter and stumbled out of the establishment.

John made it back up to their room without incident. After several tries he got his card inserted correctly and entered the room. It was completely dark except for a sliver of light coming from the bathroom. Bless Sherlock for that bit of lifesaving thoughtfulness. John shrugged out of his jacket, kicked off his shoes, stripping right down to his red pants. He was feeling quite over heated. He stumbled over to the air conditioner, turning it down to make it cooler. When he had made it back to his bed he dropped down on top of the covers, face first and was asleep in 5 mins flat.

Several hours later. John was jolted awake by a strange noise. What was that? He sat braced on his forearms listening. There it was again. It sounded almost like a wounded animal. John looked around in the semi darkened room. It looked empty except for the other occupant. The noise came again but this time there were words, “No! No...I'm so sorry John.” John was startled into action. Sherlock was having another nightmare.

He rushed over to Sherlock's bed, a bit hesitant after what happened the last time. He reached out tentatively and poked the sleeping man. “Sherlock.” John's voice came out as a squeak, barely audible. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Sherlock. Wake up. You’re having a bad dream mate.” He shook Sherlock several times, all the while Sherlock is crying out to John in his sleep. John shook Sherlock one more time, his concern for his friend causing him to be a bit more rough then intended.

Sherlock bolted straight up breathing erratic. Remnants of the dream still sticking to him. John reached out a hand to steady Sherlock; Sherlock panicked and knocked John away. “Sherlock, it’s me.” Sherlock seemed to focus on John then. “John?” “Yes. It's me. It's me.” Sherlock started crying big fat tears. Quietly of course. John sat on the side of the bed and gathered Sherlock in his arms. “Shh. I got you.” John murmured. He rocked Sherlock until he had stopped shaking. He held him a moment longer, when he felt Sherlock push against his chest. He sniffled, “Really John? I am not a child. Must you coddle me?” John released the other man and giving a humorless chuckle. “Unbelievable.”


	4. Weighing On The Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter. SorryNotSorry. Let me know what ya think...please.

 

The next morning when John woke up Sherlock was already up and dress. “Good morning.” Sherlock said cheerfully.

 

“Morning.” John mumbled holding the side of his head. “Please, don't talk so loud.”

 

Sherlock looked at John over the top of his coffee mug. “Were you out drinking last night John?”

 

“Yes!” John snapped.

 

“Oh. No wonder you never ate your food.” Sherlock sounded sullen.

 

“Look, I’m sorry about last night.” John apologized, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

 

He was still only in his red pants. And as snappish as he was proving to be this morning, who was Sherlock to tell John this. He hid his smirk inside his coffee as he took another sip. “What ever are you apologizing for John? Having a drink? You're an adult. You're allowed. You're allowed to do whatever you want. Including walking around indecent like in your red pants.” Sherlock couldn't help himself. He watched as John looked down, realizing that he wasn't wearing trousers or pyjamas. He jumped up, rushing to his bedside searching for the trousers he had abandoned the night before.

 

“I am so sorry Sherlock. I am still bloody half asleep.”

 

“You keep apologizing this morning, maybe you should go out drinking every night. I think it agrees with you.” Sherlock teased.

 

“No seriously Sherlock, I may have overreacted at the crime scene and when we returned to the room, and I apologize.”

 

“Apology accepted.”

 

John started booting up his computer. “So how did you determine the security guard had killed the woman last night?” John asked. He was clicking on his word processor when Sherlock started telling his story.

 

“Well you see John, when we first got to the scene I noticed right awa…”

 

“Sherlock! You hacked into my computer? Seriously?”

 

“Huh? What? Oh that. No don't be silly John. I logged into your computer, wrote up my rendition of the case, and shut it down. You should read it, I did a rather good job if I may say so myself. I could help write your blog you know.”

 

“You. Hacked. Into my computer! I did not give you the password, nor did I leave it written on a piece of paper. Therefore! You! Hacked it!” John was visibly upset and trying to calm himself down.

 

“Do calm down John, it is still rather early and we wouldn't want to wake anyone else up, hmm.”

 

John got out of his seat and walked over to Sherlock, invading his space. Instead of yelling, this time he was whispering, “What did you touch?”

 

“What? Nothing. I simply wrote the blog and got off. Why are you so upset? You're gonna give me whiplash how quickly you're changing moods lately.”

 

John again slammed his laptop closed, he gathered up a change of clothes and headed for the bathroom. He stopped halfway there and went back to Sherlock, poking a finger in his face. “You invaded my privacy Sherlock. That is why I am so mad. You had no right to break into my laptop. You could’ve asked.” He stalked off back towards the bathroom. Again halfway there he turned around and yet again got in Sherlock's face. “How many tries?” Sherlock looked away and mumbled “Four.”

“That's hacking. It took a conscious effort on your part to get into my computer.” He stomped away to the bathroom.

 

Sherlock waited until he heard the shower turn on and once again jumped in John’s seat and booted up his computer.

 

**_“I just wanted to say I am deeply sorry John. You are very upset right now, and will not listen to reason. So I shall not try. I think I understand why you were upset. I don't want you thinking your feelings are of inconsequential to me. It is just that I often do not understand where your emotions are steming from. I will genuinely strive to do better and be more mindful of your turbulent emotions. And John on a side note, you really should take better care of your computer, slamming it all the time will surely break it.”_ **

**_Yours Truly - SH_ **

 

He again logged off, pushed the chair in and sat on his bed. Fingers steepled. He wasn't going into his mind palace, but there was something he wanted to think about explore, if you will. John. When he had kissed John yesterday evening, it was purely out of unfiltered relief of seeing him alive. His nightmares have been getting worst and in them, John always dies. So when he opened his eyes and, well he just reacted. His mind was still steeped in his dream, and he thought he was losing John, forever. And then late last night. John holding him. Like he mattered. After another dream about John dying. But he couldn't recall ever crying after a dream. Peculiar. Yes, they were all nerve racking, but, what made this one different? Sherlock tried focusing on his dream, but his thoughts kept straying to what happened after the dream. The feel of John's arms around him, the sound of his heartbeat in his ear. The mixed smell of alcohol and smoke from whatever pub he had holed up in. And under it all, the smell that was uniquely John. He could have stayed there all night, but he mustn't get too comfortable, it was clear that John didn't feel the same type of romanticism towards him. He wasn't even sure where these feelings came from. He...

 

“Sherlock!”

 

Sherlock was roused out of his musing by a shouting John. “Hmm?”

 

“I was saying, we need to get going if we are going to make our appointment with the eyewitness.”

 

“Oh yes, of course. Come along John we mustn’t be late.” Sherlock hopped up grabbing his coat and scarf as he headed out of the room.

 

John followed closely behind. They entered the elevator and to Sherlock, it felt like the silence was a bit strained. They exited on the ground floor; made their way over to the loaner on the curb, John jumping in on the passenger side and and Sherlock behind the wheel.

 

John watched Sherlock out of the corner of his eye. He really was a beautiful creature. In a highly unusual way, he suppose. His fondness for the detective probably colored his judgement. But then again, women always seem to be drawn to him, even though, women didn't seem to be his thing, nor men for that matter. John found himself blushing at that thought, it made him dredge up Sherlock kissing him, yet again. Why wouldn't his mind let it go? But he was sober this time, and he could look at the incident objectively.

 

Sherlock had just woken up, he obviously had thought he was someone else. His mind screamed at him, _“Idiot! You heard him calling to you in his dream, so who else could he have thought you were?_ Hmm, good point. Okay, so he kissed him, thinking he was kissing the dream him? John shook his head, that can't be right because that would only raise more questions. Like why would the dream Sherlock be kissing dream him, and seemingly comfortable doing it? Does that mean dream him and dream Sherlock were together? That couldn't be right either, because he was clearly having a nightmare. Maybe dream Sherlock and dream him, oh bollocks! This was getting all confusing in his head. One thing was for sure, in retrospect he did enjoy the kiss. It really just caught him off guard. And honestly, he didn't enjoy it at the moment it was more after the fact.

 

“Ah ha!” Sherlock exclaimed loudly.

 

John jumped in his seat, he felt exposed. Bloody hell, Sherlock is probably fucking psychic to top everything off and he just heard his inner musing and is about to out him. Face red, he forced himself to face Sherlock. “Ah ha, what Sherlock?”

 

Sherlock looked startled like he forgot John was even here. “What? Oh nothing. I was trying to figure something out in my head.”

 

John sagged in his seat, oh thank God.

 

“Are you alright John? You look a bit peckish.”

 

“Yes, yes. I'm fine. You just startled me is all.” The two men were quiet for several minutes. “Sherlock, if you already believe you have this case solved, why are we still here. Why haven't you notified the police of who you believed committed the crime?”

  
“Because John, I am still missing some of the facts. I believe I know who did it, but that is based clearly on a hunch, no, on intuition, yes, that sounds better. And you can never solve a case on intuition alone. Highly unprofessional.”


	5. The Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock, on the case.

 

They completed the trip in mutual silence, both men contemplating recent events.

 

“Sherlock? You’ve just passed the address.”

 

Sherlock shook himself out of his deep musings and threw the vehicle in reverse.

“Alright then, let's get on with it.” They exit the vehicle and approach the house, before they could ring the bell the door opened inwardly. A petite woman stood in the doorway. She tried to look appropriately despondent, given the circumstances of their meeting, but even John could see she was practically overflowing with excitement.

 

“Hello Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson.” She greeted shaking each man’s hand in turn.

“Could you follow me into the sitting room please?” They followed her to the back of the house to a very formal sitting room. There was tea cakes and tea sitting out already. “Do be seated please.”

 

John observed the woman, she was pretty,  roughly 5’2, in her late 20’s, dirty blonde hair, styled in a pixie cut. She was dressed on the conservative side, but her blouse was unbuttoned rather low. John looked at Sherlock, trying to determine if he saw what he was seeing, a young female fan, not an actual eyewitness.

 

Sherlock gave the woman what he hoped was a charming smile. She beamed and blushed a bit. He guessed he had succeeded. The young woman seemed to be smitten with him. What a waste of time. He was sure she didn't even actually know anything about the case. But it was worth a try. “Mrs. Taylor, could you tell us what it was you said you saw on June 3rd?” Sherlock asked.

 

“Oh, it's Miss, and...” The woman stood up and forced herself in between Sherlock and John on the couch. She gave John her back as she placed both hands on Sherlock's chest and leaned forward. “It was horrible Mr. Holmes. Just horrible.” She was running one hand down his scarf as she looked up at him from under extremely long lashes. Most definitely fake Sherlock observed.

 

John looked on in disbelief as the woman felt up Sherlock. How dare she! They were here on business, this was not a pleasure call. John straighten up, trying to compose himself. He looked back at the two and she now had a hand on his thigh, drawing small circles. Sherlock looked highly uncomfortable. Why couldn't the lady look at Sherlock and take a hint. John wondered.

 

Sherlock sat amazed at the nerve of this woman, she didn't really know anything about the case, he was sure of it. She probably lied just to get them there. He really wished she would stop touching him. He was about to tell her just that when John cleared his throat, “ Ahem, ahem. Ma’am, could you please stop fondling Sherlock.”

 

She turned and looked at John, a lecherous look in her eyes, she ran a hand from John’s knee to the apex of his thighs. “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” John jumped up to avoid her wandering hands. He tugged on the bottom of his coat, running his hands over the fabric, dusting of imaginary lint. He then squared his shoulders, with his hands down to his sides cuffed. Sherlock recognized this habit as John trying to compose himself, he always reverted back to his military training and stature whe he was upset.  “Madam,” she turned towards John more fully, her hand ‘casually’ resting in Sherlock’s lap. “We came here on serious police business, not to be felt up by one of Sherlock’s lust-filled fans.”

 

Sherlock’s face would have been humorous if it wasn't for the fact that John was extremely pissed off. Sherlock was looking at the woman’s hand in his lap as if it was a dead rat someone had dropped there. Between his thumb and forefinger he picked her hand up by the pinky finger and let it drop into her own lap.

 

“Ma’am I'm afraid Dr. Watson is quite right. He is not here to make a house call, nor am I here to make some 3 way fantasy of yours come true.” Sherlock stood and started walking to the front door, John following closely behind. “Wait!” the woman yelled, “Aren't you going to look me over and make deductions about me?” she asked sounding desperate. Sherlock gave a lopsided smile, and asked, “Haven't I already?” He turned and continued out of the house and climbed behind the wheel of their loaner. Moments later John climbed in after him.

 

Sherlock pulled away from the curb, complaining under his breath.

 

John was staring at Sherlock. “It just comes so natural to you, doesn't it?” It was a rhetorical question, but Sherlock answered all the same.

 

“Yes. But what exactly are you referring to John?”

 

“Even when you’re being a great big arse, you charm the socks off of people. You come across as nothing less than brilliant. Amazing.”

 

Sherlock glanced quickly at John. “Is something wrong?”

 

“Tell me about this case, who do you think did it?” John said, ignoring the question.

 

“Isn't it obvious John?” John sighed heavily. Oh course, Sherlock’s typical response.

 

“Obviously it's not obvious to me.” John snapped.

 

“Come on now. I know you see a lot more than I give you credit for.” John stared at Sherlock in disbelief. Oh, wait, he was sure the insult was only moments away.

 

When Sherlock didn't say anything else, John was surprised. “Do you really?”

 

Sherlock chanced another quick glance in John’s direction. “Of course. I'm not blind you know. We just notice different things.” Almost like, well almost like working two different sides of the same coin.”

 

John stared out the window, smiling. “Thank you Sherlock. That means a lot.”

 

Sherlock had to bite his tongue to keep from saying more. It was so hard to keep what he was thinking to himself sometimes.

 

They pulled up to the scene of the crime that had brought them to this rather small town in the first place. The men climbed out of the vehicle, walking over to the building and entering under the police tape. The outline of the bodies were still there. Sherlock squatted down next to the first outline, which coincidentally was on the stairs. The way the body was found, it was as if the person just dropped dead as they were climbing them.

 

John stood next to Sherlock. “Okay John, let's go over what we know so far.” John stood there looking down at the outline.”John?”

 

“Oh. You meant me? Sorry, just, normally you go through all the stuff _you_ know about the case and I just nod.”

 

Sherlock looked up at John, he couldn't help but hear the resentment in his voice. Sherlock placed a hand on John’s ankle, causing John to look at him. “I'm sorry John. I _am_ trying to do better by you. It has been brought to my attention that, I may take advantage of your friendship. And your understated brilliance.”

 

John blanched at Sherlock's statement. Who was this man? It wasn't his Sherlock. Wait, since when did he refer to Sherlock as his? John physically shook himself.

 

“Um, okay. We know this is the second set of murders attributed to this particular cause of death, which means it was most likely the same killer or killers. Also, since there is more than one murder, we can assume we are dealing with a serial killer or serial killers. But, statically, serial killers tend to work alone. The M.E. has given these two particular victims the same time of death, making it seem sketchy that there would be only one killer. Furthermore, no wounds inflicted prior to death, the rapid progression of said death, leads me to believe they died within 30 minutes of ingesting some sort of poison.”

 

Sherlock blinked his eyes rapidly several times, realizing he was still holding on to John’s ankle, he snatched his hand back. Sherlock cleared his throat. “Very observant of you John. How do you know their deaths were quick? That wasn't in the M.E.’s report.”

 

“I'm a doctor Sherlock. I recognized the signs of a body’s organs shutting down suddenly. The only baffling thing, which I'm sure this is where you will come in, organ failure is usually a side effect of a larger issue, which according to the M.E., all of the victims were healthy with no major illnesses or diseases. The level of deterioration exhibited in these victims is too far advanced. The organ failure happened suddenly and without warning, and that is just not typical. Especially in perfectly healthy individuals.”

 

Sherlock watched John, he never noticed how excited he got when he was on to something.

 

“What Sherlock? You're staring. Did I say something wrong?”

 

“No, no. Just realizing I should let you handle some of the cases more often.”

 

John wasn't sure how to respond to that so he just gave Sherlock a quick smile and asked, “So who do you think did it?”

 

“Well, as I was telling you before, there isn't a lot of evidence to go on. The person is smart. Maybe knows police protocols and what they would be looking for. So I am basing it all on a hunch, which is why I will not take my “findings” to the police yet. Because there are no findings.”

 

“But your hunches usually turn out to be correct.”

 

“True enough, but I need to be sure. I also figured who ever the killer is would need access to the bodies after death to try and clean up whatever evidence they left behind. I believe the M.E. did it.”

 

“I’m sorry Sherlock, I’m going to have to disagree.”

 

Instead of Sherlock’s usual sneer when John disagreed, he gave a lopsided grin and asked John to explain.

 

“Well, several reasons really. The main being that whatever was given to the victims was some sort of new bacteria, virus or compound that I have never even heard of. Something that pushed the victim's organs into rapid failure. An M.E. doesn’t typically dabble in scientific research like that. And then, most M.E.’s don't mind dead bodies. They deal with them up close and personal everyday. These people have been killed from a distance so to speak. The killer didn't have to get his hands dirty. Most likely meaning he doesn't like being around dead bodies. I think that is also why there is so little evidence, he was never actually here. This might even be a sick experiment for him, research even. And their deaths, tragically, a casualty worth the final outcome.”

 

Sherlock smiled at John. “Very well John, let's prove me wrong. We will need to get samples of their blood and maybe the contents of their stomach.”                                                                     


	6. Dimitri

 

Sherlock and John combed over the crime scene several times, trying to find something, anything that would incriminate the M.E. or anyone for that matter.

 

They drove back to the hotel, stopping once to grab some fish and chips. When they got up to the room they spread out all of the paper and reports they had on the crime. They ate while they poured over the info. They bounced theories off of one another, joked around and got lost in their own thoughts. It was a typical night for them. It was a good night.

 

Around 1 a.m. John looked up and noticed Sherlock had fallen asleep in the chair. “Well that can't be comfortable. Sherlock, come on, let's get you into bed.” John shook Sherlock gently, trying to rouse him just enough to help him over to his bed. Typical. Sherlock didn't budge. John was torn. If he left Sherlock asleep in that chair, he’ll be cranky as hell in the morning. And that spelled disaster for everyone. But if he was going to get Sherlock to his bed, he would literally have to carry him there.

 

John sighed.

 

He got up and went over to Sherlock. He tried one more time to wake him up. “Bloody hell.” John mumbled under his breath. Taking Sherlock's arm and putting it around his neck he scooped the taller man up in his arms. Sherlock immediately snuggled into John, burrowing in up under his chin and throwing his other arm around his neck as well.

 

Sherlock was a lot heavier than he looked, but luckily John was stronger than he looked as well. He walked over to Sherlock's bed. It was neatly made. “Shit.” He should have pulled the covers back before he had carried Sherlock to the bed. John sat on the edge, balancing Sherlock in his lap reached over and pulled the blanket and sheets down. Standing back up he laid Sherlock down and pulled the blanket up over him, tucking him in. John looking down on the sleeping detective and had a ridiculous notion to kiss him on the forehead goodnight. John scoffed to himself.

 

Making his way back to his computer, he had been doing research about medical research. He was going to shut down his computer, but decided to check to see if his changes had saved from the night before when he slammed it shut before going out drinking. He hoped so, he had been halfway done.

 

Starting up the word processor, he noticed the document that was last worked on wasn’t the one he yelled at Sherlock about, it was much shorter. Out of curiosity, and it was his computer dammit, he double clicked on the document. A letter from Sherlock to him.

 

**_“I just wanted to say I am deeply sorry John. You are very upset right now, and will not listen to reason. So I shall not try. I think I understand why you were upset. I don't want you thinking your feelings are of inconsequential to me. It is just that I often do not understand where your emotions are stemming from. I will genuinely strive to do better and be more mindful of your turbulent emotions. And John, on a side note, you really should take better care of your computer, slamming it all the time will surely break it.”_ **

**_Truly Yours - SH_ **

 

Several different emotions ran through John. Surprise and joy that Sherlock apologized, he never apologizes. Annoyance, was Sherlock really incapable of simply saying something nice without following it up with a criticism? And lastly, an unnamed emotion, mainly because he didn't want to look at it too closely. Sherlock _admitted_ to caring about his feelings, and he signed it “Truly Yours”. It made him smile. For reasons unknown of course. John shutdown his computer, turned out the lights and climbed into bed.

 

Ten minutes later, or hours later, John didn't know. He was woken up out of his sleep by Sherlock crying out to him. John was instantly on alert assuming they had an intruder. Upon not seeing anyone, he went to Sherlock's bed.

 

Sherlock cried out again. “Run John!”  Sitting on the edge of the bed, John ran a soothing hand up and down Sherlock's back, trying to calm his friend. Sherlock trembled in his sleep, mumbling, and occasionally lashing out. John started humming.

 

After a while, Sherlock calmed down into a peaceful sleep. John kept watch another 15 minutes to make sure he didn’t wake back up. He yawned, the adrenaline having worn off as he sat there. He got up, stretching and climbed back into his own bed.

 

John woke up slowly. Upon opening his eyes he took in certain things right way; the curtains were drawn, yet is was morning. No smell of coffee. And no sounds of Sherlock moving about. He glanced quickly to the other bed, it was empty and unmade. Just how Sherlock leaves it. He sat up slowly, taking in the rest of the room. He was the only one here. John grabbed his phone, it was after 12 noon already! Checking to see if there were any messages from Sherlock he got out of the bed and walked towards the bathroom.

 

**Message received at 10:45 a.m.**

**_Didn’t want to wake you. Went for a walk. Truly Yours - SH_ **

 

John made quick work of showering. Grabbing his phone he left the room. As John was getting off the elevator in the lobby, he realized he had left his wallet. Jumping back in the elevator, he took it to their floor. As he was getting off, his head was down, he was searching his pockets for the room key. He heard a muffled noise. Looking up he saw a man, holding a gun behind his back enter their room. He was confident Sherlock couldn't have came back to the room while he was on his way down. So he would just follow the guy when he left their room.

 

As their room door was closing there was a ding announcing the elevator, Sherlock stepped off. “Ah, Jo…” John clamped his hand around Sherlock’s mouth and dragged him around the corner. Before he removed his hand he whispered, “There is someone in our room and he has a gun. With a silencer.” Sherlock’s eyes got big, and then John could feel him smiling behind his hand. He removed it. “What is so funny about an intruder with a gun in our room?”

 

“We _are_ going to follow him, right?”

 

“I am going to follow him, you are going to stay and phone the police. I'm military trained remember?”

 

Sherlock stared at John for a moment and then looked around the corner, watching the room. After a several minutes, John finally looked too. “What could be taking him so long in the room? Perhaps he knew we were out and is waiting for us to return.”

 

“Actually John, he left a minute and 45 seconds ago.”

 

“What? Why didn't you tell me?” John stepped around Sherlock walking towards the room at the end of the hall.

 

“I did not tell you John because if I don't go, you don't go.”

 

“Are you insane? You have your specialties, I have mine.”

 

“I have no doubt of that, but if I'm not there to watch your back you shouldn't go.”

 

John pushed pass Sherlock, pulling out his gun he motioned for Sherlock to slide his key card to unlock their door. Sherlock slid his card and pushed the door open hard.

 

There was a muffled, pained sound. And then they heard something heavy hit the floor. John rushed in, gun pointed behind the door. There was the man he saw sneaking into their room, passed out cold in the floor. Next to him, a gun with a silencer. John looked up at Sherlock, he stood there with his hands behind his back, looking smug. “I lied.”

 

John tucked the gun in his back holster, grabbed the mystery man’s gun, passed it to Sherlock, and then grabbed the man and tossed him over his shoulder.

 

“Impressive.” Sherlock stated under his breath.

 

John dropped the man unceremoniously into one of the hotel’s chairs. “Sherlock, pass me my bag please. Sherlock went to John’s bed and found the bag sticking out from under the bed. Picking it up, he returned to the sitting area and sat it on the table next to John.

 

John rummaged through his bag quickly and pulled out a length of rope, tying the man down with it.

 

Sherlock looked at John, raising an eyebrow.

 

“What?”

 

“Do you always carry rope in your bag?”

 

“Yes.” John was sifting through his bag again, having found what he was looking for, he again turned to their intruder turned captive, John waved his hand under his nose.

 

“Ah. Smelling salts.” Sherlock replied as he started to remove his scarf and coat.

 

The man woke up in a start. Glancing around quickly in a panic. One of his eyes was partially closed, there was a cut over his eye and blood was dripping in his eye.

 

Sherlock sat down in the chair across from the man, crossing his leg at the knee, and steepling his fingers. The man looked at him and then back to John who was standing at Sherlock’s side with his hands behind his back. He dared another small glance at Sherlock but finally settled his gaze on John.

 

John gave a small smile, whereas Sherlock frowned, even pouting a little. Both men realizing this man thought of John as the bigger threat between the two.

 

“Smart choice.” John sat his gun on the table within reach and eyesight of the tied up man. “Are you going to continue to make smart choices?” The man swallowed in nervousness. “What’s your name?” John continued.

 

“Dimitri.” he croaked out, voice trembling. Something wasn't right. John glanced sideways at Sherlock to see if he sensed it too. Sherlock was squinting at the man and had his head tipped to the side, evaluating.

 

A hitman would not be as scared as this guy was, he was so frightened he couldn't stop from shaking. Plus he gave his name without hesitating, which implied he had nothing to hide.

 

“Okay Dimitri. Why did you break into our room with a gun?”

 

“I - I didn't.”

 

“Seriously?” John turned and looked to Sherlock “Is everybody going to argue the technicality of their illegal actions?”

 

“I had a key card.” Dimitri argued defensively.

 

“But you were not invited in.”

 

“Technically John, he was. He works here. He was my server the other night while you were out.”

 

“And do all servers carry guns when they enter an empty room?” John asked not sounding the least bit placated.

 

“I've been carrying a gun for the pass week and a half.”

 

“Since the murders started.” John surmised. “Do you know who the killer is Dimitri?” The man shook his head no. “Then why do you feel your life is in danger?”

 

“The other,” Dimitri choked up. John put his gun away.

 

“Go on.” Sherlock prompted.

 

“The other, pe- victims all worked here too.”

 

“I still don't see the need for you to have a gun drawn as you entered our room illegally.”

 

Sherlock spared John a look out of the side of his eye. Really he was like a dog with a bone.

 

“How long ago did they work here?”

 

“They were let go about a week prior to - to their deaths.”

 

John moved around and untied the man. “How long have you been in England illegally?” John asked.

 

“Roughly a year.”

 

Sherlock was thoroughly impressed with how quickly John connected the dots. “And the others, they were all here illegally as well; that’s why there was no record of employment that could have linked them all together.” John said absently.

 

“Where are you staying Dimitri, I know they closed the two halfway houses when the murders happened.”

 

“With family.”

 

Sherlock jumped up clapping his hands, “Okay. We’ll take your case. Go home, lay low and we will get to the bottom of this.” Sherlock handed him his gun back.

 

“Thank you, thank you.” Dimitri hid his gun under the hem of his shirt and hurried out.


	7. Role Reversal

Sherlock sat back down in the seat that Dimitri had vacated. Absently he started playing with the rope that was still hanging over the chair. John sat in the seat opposite him, watching, waiting wondering what Sherlock’s game plan was going to be.  

 

Several minutes go by and still Sherlock has said nothing. “Uh Sherlock?”

 

“Mmm?”

 

“Shouldn't we be contacting the manager or owner and see if we can get a list of past employees that aren't on the books?”

 

“Did you carry me to bed last night?” Sherlock asked, still playing with the rope.

 

John couldn't help the blush creeping up his neck, luckily Sherlock was engrossed with the rope. “Yes, uh, yes I did.”

 

“Twice now.”

 

“Twice now, what?”

 

“That you have put me to bed. It’s only fair that I get you in bed.”

 

Sherlock seemed unaware of his double entendre. John licked his lips and cleared his throat. “You're like a cat with that rope. At least I know what to get you for Christmas this year.” John joked.

 

Sherlock looked up, seeming to realize what he was doing, dropping the rope. “Yes we should pay the manager a visit.” He stood up abruptly heading to the door.

 

John grabbed a pen and notepad so they could write the names down if the manager didn't have a printed list.

 

As they walked to the elevator John asked, “Sherlock, I know you think it is unimportant, but Dimitri entered our room with a gun drawn, and there was a silencer on the gun. I feel like we are still missing something.”

 

“Hmm, perhaps.”

 

“I do think his fear was very real.”

 

“Yes. You're just a regular G.I. Joe aren't you?”

 

“Are you jealous Sherlock?”

 

“Why in the world would I be jealous?”

 

John smirked. “Because he saw me as the bigger threat. Most people rule me out because I'm so small.”

 

“Yes, I suppose they do, but you're big where it matters.”

 

John’s face turned flaming red and he started to stutter trying to find a proper response.

 

Sherlock’s face showed a quick look of surprise that was promptly covered up with his usual sarcasm. “Really John, I never knew you were such a deviant. Your heart, I was referring to your heart.”

 

“Of course, I knew that.”

 

They exited at the Lobby, walking over to the front desk; Sherlock in his best commanding voice asked to speak to whoever was in charge, preferably whomever was at the top of the chain of command. As the lady scrambled off to fetch someone Sherlock turned to John, “Would you like to go out to dinner with me tonight?”

 

John looked at Sherlock speculatively. Sherlock seemed to be playing word games with him today.

 

“Instead of grabbing take out or room service.” Sherlock rushed to explain when John didn't answer.

 

“Sure.” John answered and turned to face the lobby. After several minutes John said quietly, “Sherlock, there is a man near the front door watching us.”

 

“Yu _p_. I noticed, I am watching him also through the mirror behind the front desk.”

 

The guy by the front door continued to try and be nonchalant about watching them, but to the duo it was painfully obvious. “So where did you have in mind? Anywhere in particular?” John questioned.

 

“Hmm? Oh yes. I seen an ad for -”

 

“Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson if you could follow me please.” The front desk worker was leading them to the back of the hotel where presumably the company offices were situated. “Please have a seat. Mr. Carmichael will be right with you.” As the lady was closing the door behind her, Sherlock’s hand reached out and grabbed it, keeping it from closing. When the lady looked up at him questioningly, he gave her a belittling smile and said, “People are being murdered all over this town, I much rather look my killer in the face as he marches in to kill me.” The lady scurried off clearly mortified.

 

“Sherrrlock, was that really necessary?”

 

“Yu _p_.” he replied putting more emphasis on the letter ‘p'. “She was boring and scared without good reason. It’s not like either of us would do her any harm.”

 

“Nor would I allow any harm to come to you.” John answered absently as he took in the office.

 

Sherlock hid a pleased smile behind his steepled hands and sat down. He watched John out of the peripheral of his eye. John was completely alert right now, eyes restless, taking in everything, hands held behind his back, almost as if he was at parade rest. Sherlock had been a fool when he said that John sees but did not observe. He did, it's just that he and Sherlock saw things differently and neither could see from the others vantage point.

 

John made his way back over to Sherlock. Despite Sherlock telling the front desk lady that he wished to look his killer in the eye, he sat with his back to the open door. John, on the other hand, stood facing the door, behind Sherlock, effectively shielding Sherlock with his body from any threats. “John?”

 

“Yes Sherlock?"

 

"You do realize you are not my bodyguard?”

 

“Yes. The thought had crossed my mind. But what I am, is your friend with a specialized set of skills. So stop your yammering and let me do what I do best.”

 

Sherlock smirked. “Very well then.”

 

John could hear the smile in Sherlock’s response and smiled as well.

 

They had been left to their own devices for around 20 minutes when an overweight elderly gentleman entered the office. He stopped short upon almost barreling right into John.

 

“Good afternoon Sir.” John greeted. “I am Dr. John Watson, and this is Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”

 

“Good afternoon. I wasn't told that I had anyone waiting on me, I apologize. I trust you have not been waiting long?”

 

The man took his seat behind the desk.

 

“Actually Mr. Carmichael, we have been left waiting for,” Sherlock looked at his watch for dramatic purposes, John was sure Sherlock very well knew how long they had been waiting without looking at his watch. “Exactly 21 minutes and 33 and a quarter seconds before you almost ran my comrade over.” Sherlock finished with a flourish.

 

John kicked Sherlock’s chair in warning.

 

“Then I do apologize again Mr. Holmes, I will discuss this with my staff. How can I help you gentlemen?”

 

“I'm sure you have heard of the plentiful but unfortunate murders that has taken place in the city over the past couple of weeks.”

 

Mr. Carmichael nodded that he had.

 

“I am also sure you have come to realize each victim was an employee of yours, albeit illegally so.”

 

“Mr. Holmes, I do not believe I follow, are you trying to imply that my company had something to do with those murders? And that we employ people under the table?”

 

“Implying, no. Stating, yes.”

 

John interrupted before Sherlock could be, well, Sherlock, and anger the man any further.

 

“Sir. What my colleague is trying to say is, during this investigation, it has been brought to our attention that your company has in the past employed workers, that have yet to pledge allegiance to our great country. We are not here about that nor do we care. Nonetheless, all of the victims in this case have turned out to be previous employees of your company. Now with that having been brought to our attention, naturally we are here to see if we can obtain a list of all past and present employees that may fit these specifications. We would like to prevent any further murders from happening if possible.” John finished diplomatically.

 

Mr. Carmichael unlocked a drawer in his massive desk. Taking out a sheet of paper he passed it over to John. John glanced over the paper quickly. “Thank you Sir. If you can think of any details about these employees or any hotel guest that you think may help in our investigation, please do not hesitate to give us a call. Sherlock, please hand Mr. Carmichael a card.”

 

Sherlock reached into the breast pocket of his coat, pulling out a card and handing it to the elderly man.

 

John extended a hand to the man. “We’ll be out now Sir. Thank you again.”

 

Sherlock stood up, a frown etched into his face. He nodded to the man behind the desk, not offering to shake hands and strode out of the office.

 

As they were walking back to the front of the hotel Sherlock spoke up. “Well done in there John.”

 

John stopped, pulling Sherlock to a stop as well. He handed him the list. Without looking at the paper, Sherlock folded it and placed it in his pocket. “I fear I have greatly underestimated your usefulness to me John. I apologize for that.” The men stared at one another for far longer than deemed appropriate; Sherlock’s gaze dipping once to John's lips. Turning away abruptly he started forward once again.

 

John clenched his hands by his sides and followed. _Did Sherlock just look at his lips? Dammit. Now he was thinking about that damned, stupid kiss! Again!_

 

When they returned to the room Sherlock took out the list, removing his scarf and coat, and throwing them across his bed. He sat at the table with the list. Immediately crossing off the deceased victims. Dimitri’s name wasn’t on the list. So he either actually lied to them about his name or he was working at the hotel under an alias. There were a total of 23 people on the list, 7 which had already been murdered. The remaining 16, 9 were women, and 7 men. And all 16  were listed as still employed.

 

They spent the rest of the afternoon trying to track down the people on the list. Hopefully to prevent any future murders.


	8. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're off to dinner...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have included actual photos from the restaurant.

 

The men worked for several hours, successfully reaching over half the people on this list. John spoke to people they were able to reach, his people skills were far better than Sherlock's. He warned them to be vigilant, not to eat or drink anything they did not prepare themselves, or see prepared.

 

Around 8, Sherlock turned to John, “Are you ready for dinner?”

 

John looked up from his computer, “God yes.”

 

They headed downstairs, glancing around the lobby on their way through, they were checking to make sure they weren't being watch or followed.

 

Sherlock hailed a cab when they got out front. “Why a cab Sherlock?”

 

Without looking at John, Sherlock responded, “No distractions.”

 

Sticking his tongue in his cheek John mumbled, “Uh huh.”

 

They got into the cab and Sherlock passed the driver an address, he looked at it and called over his shoulder, “Special night? What is it, your anniversary?”

 

Sherlock sat back taking in the sights, not bothering to refute the cabbie.

 

“Uh no, no. We’re not dating. The night is no more special than any other.” John hurriedly explained, looking to Sherlock for collaboration. The detective remained silent.

 

“Well not yet anyways.” The cab driver said under his breath.

 

“Excuse me? You say something?” John asked leaning forward.

 

“No, not at all.” They were stopped at a red light, the cab driver turned to Sherlock, “He’s a little high-strung, isn’t he?”

 

Sherlock glanced at John with obvious affection, “Yes, he can be.”

 

“Excuse me. High-strung Sherlock?”

 

“Calm down John, no harm was meant.”

 

John crossed his arms and sat back sulking. The cab driver chuckled and Sherlock smiled into his hand.

 

Around twenty minutes later they pulled up in front of _Clos Maggiore_. A well known restaurant specializing in French cuisine. And also dubbed the most romantic restaurant in London.

 

“Sherlock surely this a mistake. Is this where you intended us to go?”

 

Sherlock was standing on the sidewalk waiting with his hands clasped behind his back. “Do come along John, we have reservations.”

 

“Reservations?” John asked sounding alarmed.

 

The cabbie yelled, “Enjoy your date!” as he drove away. John started to yell behind him but thought better of it.

 

“Shall we?” Sherlock asked.

 

John stared at the taller man, he couldn't help but feel like he was asking more than the obvious. He started forward falling in line behind Sherlock.

 

“Had I known we were dining at such a nice place, I would've changed before coming out.” John mumbled.

 

They had reached the maître d'. Sherlock gave his name. While he was waiting for the maître d' to locate his name he caught John’s gaze. “Change? I think you look fine.” The maître d' motioned them forward leading them to a table in a secluded corner near the fireplace.

 

 

Sherlock and John took seats across from one another. John gazed around the restaurant. It was breathtaking. There were vines of flowers hanging down all around them, in a variety of colors. The lighting was muted and of course there was the fireplace. In this particular part of the restaurant, the tables were all round with big comfortable seats. And there was also enough space between tables to give each dining party some privacy.

 

Sherlock was staring at John as he took in the restaurant. John turned to Sherlock. “Sherlock, how can we afford this place? We hardly ever take payment for any of the cases we do.”

 

“Do you like it John?”

 

“Why yes, it’s quite lovely. But…”

 

“Someone owed me, let's say, a favor.”

 

“Have you ever been here before? Did you know it would be so extravagant?”

 

“No. Never saw the need before.”

 

John had started looking at the flowers again, but turned and looked at Sherlock at his words. A waiter approached just then taking their drink selections and inquiring if they would be having a starter. Sherlock while locking eyes with John order a starter and their main courses. When John didn't object he looked back to the waiter and said that would be all for now.

 

They didn't speak again until after their bottle of wine had been brought out.

 

“So what's this about Sherlock? Do you have bad news or something?”

 

“No, of course not. I prefer to give my bad news in private. I just thought yo -. I just thought I'd show my appreciation for all your hard work.”

 

“Hmm, okay.”

 

They made small talk throughout dinner, nothing really heavy. When they were done Sherlock signed the bill and asked John if he wanted to go to the bar for a final drink.

 

He agreed.

 

The men stood up and walked to the front of the establishment. John was in the lead and was about to walk out the door; Sherlock grabbed his hand pulling him around a corner. There was a set of stairs leading up.

 

“Oh.”

 

Sherlock held John's hand all the way up the stairs. When they exited the stairwell. Sherlock dropped John's hand, fighting the urge to wipe his hand on his trousers. He felt like his hand had been sweating profusely. But he didn't want to insult John.

 

Sherlock came out of the stairwell first stepping to the side so John could exit. The view was amazing. They were on the roof There was a single wall covered in mirrors, it reflected back the lights of the city. There were also tables for dining, and in the center, a bar.

 

 

Sherlock took pleasure in seeing the awe on John’s face. _He suppose it was beautiful up here, he barely noticed._

 

John’s mouth hung slightly agape at the sight. He seemed to shake himself, “Christ. I must look a fool Sherlock, standing here, staring.”

 

“As were I. Let's have that drink shall we?”

 

They made there way over to the bar, the top level was all but empty. Maybe one or two others. John and Sherlock sat next to one another towards the end of the bar, it had a better view of the city. They ordered their drinks. John turned in his seat so that his back rested against the bar.

 

“It is absolutely magnificent up here Sherlock.”

 

Their drinks arrived, Sherlock passed John his. “A toast?” he asked.

 

John turned to face Sherlock. “A toast. To a wonderful evening.” Neither man lifted their glass, their gazes held for several heartbeats.

 

“To a wonderful evening.” Sherlock said quietly, lifting his glass. John followed suit and they clinked their glasses together and took a healthy drink.

 

John went back to looking at the view, giving Sherlock his profile. Sherlock was lost in his own thoughts. _H_ __e_ couldn't seem to stop looking at John tonight. It’s not as if he did anything differently. He was still wearing his hair the same. Same boring jumper. Same old John really. But there was something different about him. _ A some pointJohn had got up and walked towards the stairs. To the loo, most likely.

 

“It’s love.” A voice coming from his right said. Sherlock turned towards it, it was their bartender.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“You said, there is something different about him. I don’t know either of you, but I’ve been a bartender long enough to read the signs. You two are longtime friends. And you love him. That is why he looks different to you. You’re seeing him in a different light, that is all. Also, if I had to guess, I’d say he felt the same towards you.”

 

Sherlock thought about it a moment, eyes blinking rapidly. “Impossible.” he spat out angrily.

 

“Hey mate, I meant no disrespect.”

 

“No, no, of course not. I mean, John is always going on about how he isn’t gay. And he does date, a lot. Women in case you weren't following.”

 

“Well maybe he wasn’t gay.”

 

“Wasn’t?”

 

“Meaning, he has feelings for you, I mean, _if_ he has feelings for you, it could very well be his first experience of the sort. He might not even realize it yet.”

 

There was a companionable silence for several more moments.

 

“Anyways, he is heading this way, good luck. Hope to see you two back under different circumstances, if you get my meaning.”

 

“Yes, yes. Thank you.” Sherlock waved him off dismissively, as he often does to people when he is thinking.

 

“Sorry Sherlock. I tried telling you I was heading down to the bathroom, but you seemed to be deep in thought. Oh. You finished your drink already? Huh, no wonder you wanted to take a cab.” John sat back down, sipping his drink and enjoying the view. 

 

Round about an hour had passed in gentle silence, the men just taking in the view. “Alright fellas, we’re closing up. Anything else I can get you before we do?”

 

John looked at Sherlock, “No Sir, I believe we are good.” he took out a couple of bills to pay their tab, and the bartender shook his head.

 

“It's on the house. I love seeing new couples together.”

 

Sherlock’s head whipped around at that.

 

“Oh, but we’re not dating.” John said trying to hand him the money.

 

“I said couple.”

 

John looked thoughtful for a moment. The bartender smiled and wished them a good night. John thanked him, laying out some bills anyways and telling him it was a tip.

 

“Let's go Sherlock.” Sherlock stood but almost immediately fell. John caught him around the waist. “Whoa, whoa. I got you.”

 

He helped Sherlock down the stairs and out to the curb where he hailed a cab.

 

They didn't have long to wait.

John helped Sherlock into the cab, trying to encourage him to scoot over was a losing battle so he jumped in, giving the driver the name of the hotel where they were staying.

 

As they were leaving the area a bicyclist rode out in front of them and the cabbie had to slam on his brakes, causing Sherlock to fall forward, John shot out his arm, extending it across Sherlock’s chest to keep him from hitting the partition between the seats. When he fell back against the seat, his head lolled against John’s shoulder.

 

“Sorry!” the cabbie yelled out.

 

“It’s quite alright.” John assured the driver, and to Sherlock, “Are you alright?” Sherlock made some sort of noise that John took to mean yes. “Sherlock, I didn’t think you had that much to drink.”

 

“We had a whooooole bottle o’wine. Jaaaawn. I'm not dunk, drunk I mean. I just don’t want to move. You’re comfy.”

 

The cabbie laughed. “So I take it the date went well? I told you it was a date.”

 

John squinted his eyes, it was the same cab driver from earlier. John rolled his eyes and looked down at Sherlock, well the top of his unruly curls.

 

The cab driver got them back to the hotel in record time. When John asked how much they owed him, he said it had already been taken care of. John thanked him, wished him a good night and helped Sherlock out the cab and into the building.

 

Up in the room John realized he had his work cut out for him. He had Sherlock sit in the chair while he turned back his sheets and blanket. He really needed to ask housekeeping to not make Sherlock’s bed. He helped his friend remove his scarf, jacket and shoes. Having done that, he instructed Sherlock to undress so he could get in bed.

 

“So bossssy.” Sherlock slurred. “Tuwn awound.”

 

John sighed heavily but did as he said. Turning his back to Sherlock he could her the man struggling. When he no longer heard any noise he turned around only to catch a glimpse of the detective shuffling nude into the bathroom. A moment later, the sound of retching reached his ears. John tapped his side, not knowing if he should offer help, or wait him out.

 

Several moments pass and then the sound of the sink. Sherlock was brushing his teeth. John shook his head and sat on his bed, head in his hands.

 

Sherlock came shuffling back out and fell face first across his bed. John dared to look to make sure he was in the bed fully, and covered. John approached the bed, at least Sherlock had made an attempt, the sheets and blanket was covering one leg, part of his back and his head. John pulled the covers completely over him and turned out the lights. He was opening the bathroom door to have a shower, when he heard, “Goonwight Jawn.”

  
“Goodnight Sherlock.”


	9. And A Nightmare

 

After his shower John climbed into bed, lying on his back. He was exhausted, but he had so much on his mind. _How were these murders being pulled off? What were they missing about “Dimitri"? What was the deal with Sherlock?_ He fell asleep with these thoughts chasing each other around in his head.

 

“No! Run! Run, dammit!”

 

John was jolted out of sleep to a loud crash accompanied by Sherlock shouting. Wearily he got out of bed, eyes still closed, making his way over to Sherlock. After several nights of the other man’s nightmares he recognized it as such and not an intruder. John was so tired. Instead of doing the usual, John pulled back the covers and climbed in the bed with Sherlock.

 

As usual, the sleeping man was thrashing about and John had his hands extended out in front of him to avoid any accidental blows. When he felt the warmth of Sherlock's body he reached out, bring the man in against his own body. Sherlock’s head was nestled between neck and shoulder, and John wrapped his arms around him so he could rub his back.

 

John fought to hold on to Sherlock as he continued to fight against an assailant only he could he see. He started mumbling to Sherlock, the usual, “I'm here Sherlock’s and the “You’re safe’s". He started humming against Sherlock's ear when he had stopped struggling.

 

John had just about fallen back to sleep, still holding Sherlock, when the other man whimpered and shifted in his arms, causing Sherlock to be pressed up against him more intimately. John’s eyes popped open. He had forgotten that Sherlock had gone to bed nude. _Bugger it all, he was too tired to care._ Sighing he started to hum again.

 

About fifteen minutes had gone by when John felt Sherlock’s hand press against his chest. Loosing his hold he glanced down at Sherlock out of one eye. Sherlock was looking up at him. John opened his other eye.

 

They just stared at each other for a moment. John licked his lips, “You had another nightmare.” Sherlock didn't speak. When John went to remove his arms from around him, Sherlock slid his own arm around John’s waist. John took the hint and settled his arms back around Sherlock, “Okay. I’ll stay. Don't worry, I got you.” Sherlock closed his eyes briefly. When he opened his eyes again he seemed more steady.

 

Neither man looked away from the other. John continued to give soft strokes up and down Sherlock’s back, trying to be reassuring. He glanced down at Sherlock’s lips, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from them, and before he realized what he was doing, his lips were pressed against Sherlock's. It was the barest of kisses, nothing like when Sherlock kissed him several days ago. John pressed his mouth more firmly against Sherlock’s, running the tip of his tongue hesitantly against the seam of Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock allowed him entrance. _Christ! He must be dreaming. For the urge to come over him, for him to act on that urge, and biggest of all, Sherlock was kissing him back!_ Their tongues slid languidly against each other, tasting the recesses of the others mouth. John had his hand tangled in Sherlock’s curls. _This was far better than he ever would have imagined._ Sherlock let out a small moan. That brought John back to himself. _Good god, he was practically taking advantage of his friend._ He broke off the kiss, settling Sherlock back against his chest. “Rest easy Sherlock, I'm here.”

 

Gradually both men fell back to sleep.

 

Sherlock woke up first, becoming more aware with each passing moment. He first registered his splitting headache. Next, he was aware of a most unusual sensation. He was being held. Running scenarios through his head, he deduced it had to be John holding him. Abruptly the night came rushing back. _Bloody hell. So that happened._ He allowed himself to enjoy the feeling for a few minutes longer.

 

Sighing softly he opened his eyes. John’s sleeping face slowly came into focus. Sherlock was in disbelief of the turn of events. He had asked John out to dinner on a whim. John had accepted. He really hadn't expected for John to accept. And then he had took John to what was dubbed the most romantic restaurant in London. _What had he been thinking._ And to top it all off, he had another nightmare, which had led to his friend consoling him, in the middle of the night, in his bed no less. John had kissed him. John. And that same John was still in his bed.

 

Sherlock untangled himself from John as gently as he could, not wanting to disturb him. Sherlock stood next to the bed, looking down at John. He really was quite a beautiful sight, with his face relaxed, no scowling at him. And he supposed, John was a handsome man in his own right.

 

Sighing again, he turned and went to the bathroom. There was a full size mirror on the back of the door. When he closed the door Sherlock got sight of himself. _He was nude?! Good god in heaven!_  Did more happen then he remembered? No, he was pretty certain he would recall if it had. And if _he_ didn't recall, his body most certainly would. Sherlock shut down his thinking and set to work on relieving himself and showering.

 

When John woke up, he couldn't suppress the sigh of disappointment he felt upon feeling the empty space beside him. He sat up glancing around the room. Sherlock was not in. Panic set in. _What if Sherlock felt like he had been taken advantage of? What if Sherlock regretted it? What if he didn't? What if he wanted more?_ John fell back on the bed with a plop, rubbing his temples with his fingertips.  He didn't know how to handle this. If Sherlock felt negatively about the kiss he could handle that. If Sherlock wanted more…? How exactly did John feel about this? Groaning he got up from the bed. He snagged a change of clothes from his bag and headed to the bathroom to make use of the facilities.

 

Sherlock sat at the table in the room, going through the employee files he had gotten on the people from the list. He had gone down to speak to Mr. Carmichael, and asked if he had kept any kind of files on the employees. Mr. Carmichael asked of John’s whereabouts, clearly he preferred dealing with the shorter of the two.   

 

Sherlock simply stood there smiling amicably until Mr. Carmichael relinquished the files.

 

The water had just turned on when he had came back to the room ten or so minutes ago. John would be wrapping up his shower shortly and now Sherlock was becoming nervous. He wasn't sure how he should act. Should he act the same, ignoring last night, acting as if nothing had transpired? Should he tackle the issue head on? Maybe he should just walk up to John and wrap his arms around him and kiss him again. _Bloody hell! Why did things with people have to be so cumbersome?_

 

John came out of the bathroom. Sherlock moved as he was about to get up, and then stayed put. Going back to his files he said, “Good morning John. I brought you up a nice cup of coffee. And some employee files. I've taken half.”

 

“Thanks.” John sat across from Sherlock. He looked at Sherlock for a while. Finally Sherlock spoke up.

 

“Are you going to say whatever it is you want to say, or are you going to stare all day?”

 

“How long have you been having nightmares Sherlock?”

 

Sherlock looked up at him. “Your coffee's getting cold.”

 

“Sherlock…”

 

“Several weeks. You don't have to keep coddling me at night if you’re concerned about that. I have been handling them on my own thus far with no problem.” He turned back to the employee file in front of him.

 

John reached across the table placing his hand over Sherlock’s. “I'm asking because I'm worried. You knocked the lamp over last night. While you were sleeping. I had to hold you down or get hit myself.”

 

“I didn’t ask you to.”

 

“Stop being thick headed Sherlock! I don't mind! I will always be there for you, but I wish you would just talk to me. You are always telling me to run in your dreams. Run from what? Or who? It seems like it is the same dream every night. I am just trying to help.”

 

Sherlock pulled his hand away from John’s. “You mean, like last night?”

 

John swallowed several times before he could speak. “I’m sorry Sherlock. That wasn't appropriate of me to do. Especially in the state you were in. I’m sor- it won't happen again.” John stood up, grabbing his coffee, laptop and his share of the files and  he left the room.

 

John stood in the hallway, unsure of where he should go. He didn't want to review the files in the hotel, so he decided to go back to the pub across the street. Just as he was stepping out to cross the street, an ice cream van flew by, almost striking him. He fumbled the items in his hands. He ended up dropping the coffee, which was no big lost, but when it hit the ground, the top popped off splashing the hot coffee all over his trousers.

 

 _Oh, this day just gets better and better._ John turned and stormed back inside the hotel and up to their room. Once inside, he dropped his laptop and the files on his bed,  he went to his luggage bag, took out another pair of trousers and started pulling at his clothes and cursing under his breath.

 

Sherlock watched in fascination. He wasn't sure what had John in a fit, but tearing your clothes off in a rage didn't seem the appropriate response.

 

When John had changed trousers he climbed onto his bed, pulling the files and computer towards him. _Screw this day and everyone in it!_ It made no sense, John knew, but he was so over today and it had just begun.

  
He opened up his laptop, and a blank document in his word processor. Time to drown himself in work.


	10. From Bad to Worse

John went through all the employee files, making comparisons. He had notes with similarities and theories; anything that stood out. After taking several hours doing that, he started doing research online, trying to find any kind of stories on new findings on organ failure. That turned out to be a dead end, so he tried a different angle, looking for any research papers on failed medical trials; it was a lot of info to sift through. In the 12 hours he sat there he had only gotten up once to empty his bladder.

 

It was now a quarter past 9 o’clock. Sherlock approached John at his bed. John said nothing, didn't even acknowledge Sherlock’s presence in the least. Sherlock sat a plate of fish and chips on the side table next to him, along with a cuppa tea.

 

John still said nothing. Sherlock stood there a moment longer, not knowing what to do or say, finally he turned and went to the bathroom.

 

As soon as Sherlock was in the bathroom, John got up, gathered his coat, put his shoes back on and left the hotel room. He wasn’t hungry. And now that Sherlock had broke his concentration, he just needed to be alone. He didn't go to the pub, it wouldn't solve anything, so he just started to walk, no destination in mind.

 

Sherlock came out of the bathroom, freshly showered in in jim-jams. He could feel how empty the room was and knew John was gone before he looked over to confirm it. When he saw the untouched food and tea he sighed walking over to it and covering it; maybe he would want it when he returned.

 

Sherlock sat on the edge of John’s bed and he knew he shouldn't, but he picked up the notes he had made as he went through the employee files. John had picked up on some of the same things he had in his share of the files, but he had also made little notes on things not said in the files and his own theories. John really was quite clever and he should have realized it way before now.

 

Sherlock liked to think to think of himself as a genius, but he was a blundering idiot when it came to other people and their feelings. Sure he could deduce things about their habits and the reasons behind their actions, but when it really came down to what drove them, he was clueless. He returned John’s notes the way they were and glanced at his laptop without touching it. He seemed to be researching medical trials. Failed and otherwise. What was he on about?

 

Sherlock got up, turning all the lights off but the bathroom light, again. He sure hoped John didn't make a habit of going out drinking when he was angry with him. That would surely lead him to a life of alcoholism.

 

Sherlock lay in bed, why was John so angry with him? What could he do to fix it? He hated when they were at odds like this. It always made him feel like he was forgetting or missing something.

 

Sherlock realized he was brushing across his lips with his fingertips. Now that he had been up all day, he had recovered all of the details from the night before. And the kiss they had shared was...enjoyable. It made his stomach do little flips, even now thinking back on it. He suppose he wouldn't mind doing it again. But John wasn't even speaking to him, however would he get him to kiss him again. John had been a perfect gentleman. He hadn’t pressured Sherlock last night into doing anything he didn't want to. And as much as it pained him to say it, he, Sherlock Holmes, had been vulnerable. And John had not taken advantage of that.

 

_Good god! That was it!”_

 

He had basically accused John of molesting him in their spat earlier. That wasn't how he felt of course, but sometimes he lashed out without any real thought. John didn't deserve that from him. He had to make this right.

 

Sherlock, having made up his mind turned over to go to sleep.

 

Several long hours later John came stumbling in the room. He shrugged out of his coat hissing in pain. He didn't bother taking anything else off. He gingerly laid on his side, facing towards Sherlock. Not even five minutes after laying down Sherlock started to have a nightmare. John groaned. He hurt too bad to go to him, even if he wanted to.

 

He couldn't believe that Sherlock actually would think he’d take advantage of him. He wasn’t even into men, but apparently that rule didn't apply to Sherlock. Cause he wouldn't delude himself, he cared about Sherlock in ways that far exceeded platonic. Why else would he even make a move on Sherlock? Not to mention how hurt he was because of his rejection. And Sherlock didn't seemed bothered by it either way. John tried drowning out Sherlock’s distress with his own internal agony. He was honestly very surprised by his reaction to the whole thing. He guess he _had_ been in denial. Because in all the years he and Sherlock had known each other, the urge to kiss the other man had never arose. I mean, he had noticed how beautiful Sherlock was, unrightfully so.

 

And maybe, the emergence of these new feelings were all byproducts of their current situation. Sleeping in close proximity; Sherlock's nightmares, they brought out a certain protective urge in John. Not to mention the fact that Sherlock acted as though he was just now seeing John for the first time, treating him with newfound respect. And last but not least, dinner the other night. He had already contemplated all of these things on his walk, he was only going over it again because his body literally twitched with the need to go and comfort Sherlock.

 

Sighing heavily John gave himself a mental shake. Sherlock didn't want him in that manner. John could feel the stirrings of regret and a deeper level of hurt. As far as he knew, he could just be some long term experiment of Sherlock's.

 

Eventually Sherlock’s nightmare subsided and John fell into his own fitful sleep. He was in pain, physically and emotionally. And right now, he felt like he would be okay with not waking up.

 

No such luck. John woke up to the feeling of suffocation. He felt like he couldn't catch his breath. He rolled over onto his back with great effort, assessing his body from a doctor’s perspective. He most likely had a punctured lung, judging by the amount of effort it took to breath. Maybe a couple of broken ribs. 

 

John needed to get to a hospital. And he really didn't have it in him to ask Sherlock. He looked over to Sherlock’s bed. It was empty. A bit unusual, especially on account of it appearing to be very early in the morning. No later than 5 a.m., he would guess. John carefully pulled his phone out of his trouser pocket, he was just going to have to call emergency rescue. When he tried to dial his hand shook with the effort to hold the phone, he dropped it. _Fuck it._ He could go to the front desk and ask them to call for him; he just had to make it down there.

 

John counted to three and tried to heave himself up, the effort caused his chest to hurt and he started gasping for breath. _Well he supposed he could just lay here and die._

 

John must have blacked out, when he opened his eyes next he was on a gurney being rapidly pushed down the hallway of the hotel. He thinks he hears Sherlock in the background. Blackness surrounds him again.

 

Sherlock was sitting next to John’s bed, wringing his hands. What on earth had happened to him? When Sherlock had woke up, he had saw John was sleeping in his clothes, he thought maybe he had went to the pub again and passed out on his bed.

But when he had come out of the bathroom he heard rapid, shallow gasping coming from John’s bed. He'd run over to him, turning on lights as he went, and he froze. John was badly hurt. One of his eyes was swollen shut. He had dried blood at his temple, nose and mouth, bruises covered what skin he could see.

 

Snapping out of it he had called for an ambulance. John's phone was laying next to his hand as if he had tried to call for himself.

 

Sherlock would never forgive himself if something bad happened to John, especially if it occurred because of an argument they had. Today was the day he had planned to make it up to John, instead he was sitting in a hospital room holding the hand of the man he loved.

 

Sherlock almost dropped John’s hand at his realization. He loved John. Of course they were flatmates and friends, so he cared a great deal for him, in fact, he knew John was one of the only people he did care for. But he was most certain that his little mental slip, was his brains way of trying to tell him he was _in_ love with John.  

 

He was still holding John’s hand when the doctor entered.

 

“Mr. Holmes. I have news on your boyfriend…”

 

“He’s not my boyfriend...” John interjected weakly. He was trying to look around the room. “Am I at the hospital?” he croaked out?

 

“Yes Dr. Watson. I’m Dr. Julian, I’ll be your doctor for the remainder of your stay here. Can you tell me what happened?”

 

John hurt. But he could tell they gave him something for pain because he felt like he was operating through a haze. Clearing his throat he pulled his hand free from Sherlock’s grasp. Looking at the doctor he replied quietly, “I was walking when I was jumped by a group of men.”

 

Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath. How dare they lay a hand on John.

 

“How many men Dr. Watson? I am aware of your military background, and your injuries are quite extensive.”

 

John sighed. Looking at Sherlock for the first time since waking up, he said, “Seven men.”

 

 _Seven?! Good heaven, it’s a wonder they didn't kill him. Wait. Why is John looking at him like he’s being particularly daft?_ Sherlock frowned at John, trying to fathom what he was missing.

 

“Why didn't you come straight to a hospital? You’re a doctor, you had to have an idea of how serious your injuries were?” The doctor pestered further.

 

John had his eyes closed now. “I was in a delicate state of mind last night; I had hoped my injuries weren't as bad as they felt. And what exactly are my injuries doctor?”

 

The doctor sighed, glancing at the clipboard in his hand. “You have a collapsed lung, two fractured ribs on your left, bilateral rib contusions, a concussion, ecchymosis and a multitude of contusions and abrasions across your body. Oh, and a jammed middle finger on your right hand.”

 

Both the doctor and John smiled at the last injury.

 

“Thank you doctor.”

 

After the doctor had left, Sherlock spoke up.

 

“John, you weren't mugged. For what reason would they have to jump you?”

  
Sounding exasperated John replied, “It was a warning Sherlock.”


	11. Recovery

 

“I am very, very sorry John.”

 

John looked at Sherlock as he just wanted the other man to disappear. It killed Sherlock to see this look on John’s face and know it could have been avoided.

 

“For what Sherlock? Getting the crap kicked out of me? Hate to break it to you, but _this_ isn't your fault.” John hissed.

 

Sherlock heard John’s unspoken words loud and clear. “Good, because that isn't what I'm apologizing for. I’m sorry for, I'm sorry I said what I did yesterday.” When John didn't speak, Sherlock continued. “I know it isn’t an excuse, but I'm so use to having to prove myself and one up Mycroft I sometimes spit out the wittiest, most clever or biting comment that comes to mind. And usually it is with no disregard to how others feel. But I meant what I said in the note I left you; you did see that right? On your computer?”

 

John glared at Sherlock best he could through his one good eye.

 

“Right. Well, I meant what I said about caring about your feelings. I feel like I am apologizing to you more than actually talking to you now a days. And I suppose there will be many more apologies before it is all over.” Sherlock gave what he hoped was his most sincere look. He was aware that he usually got his way with John, but he also recognized that that was mainly because John just preferred to keep the peace.

 

He reached out to take John’s hand again, but remembered John had pulled away from him so he left his hand resting on the bed.

 

“John, I should not have implied that you took advantage of me. I know you would never do that to me or anyone else.” Sherlock broke eye contact and looked around the room, and then settled on looking at the floor. “I was scared. I had come to a couple of realizations the night before. I was experiencing some emotions that I normally don't allow myself to be pulled down by. And upon realizing these realizations, I realized I rather enjoyed what I was feeling. It has also been brought to my attention that I have loved you from the moment we worked our first case together.”

 

Sherlock glanced quickly at John. He wasn't glaring daggers at him anymore, but he also didn't appear to be appeased yet.

 

“My intention for the day was to make it up to you some how. You didn't deserve that treatment from me. But now we’re here, and I can't help but feel it’s my fault. If I had not said what I did you would not be hurt.” Sherlock’s voice caught on the last word.

 

He didn't speak for several long moments. “I don't like when we fight John. I feel at odds, like I'm fighting with myself. I am trying to be as honest with you as I can. You know I can be an arse. I am not a good person. I manipulate you. I experiment on you. I've flat out lied to you. But I have never done anything to intentionally hurt you.”

 

John inched his hand closer to Sherlock’s. It hurt to lift his hand so he turned it palm side up. Sherlock having felt the movement looked up, hesitantly he placed his hand in John's and sighed quietly. He lowered his forehead to their clasped hands, not saying anything.

 

John was alarmed when he felt hot tears hit his hand. He cleared his throat, “Sherlock?”

 

When Sherlock spoke his voice was steady, “Shh, don't talk John. The doctor said your esophagus was bruised.”

 

“I know my fucking throat is bruised, is my bloody throat!” he said as vehemently as his abused throat would allow.

 

Sherlock looked up at the anger he heard in John’s voice, his eyes were shiny and the tip of his nose was red. “Will you forgive me John? Forgive me for being an idiot when it comes to you?”

 

John's anger seemed to have deflated out of him, sighing softly he replied, “Of course Sherlock. But you aren't the only one here at fault. I should have spoke up when you implied what you did. And I shouldn't have kissed you after your nightmare, and -”

 

“No! You should have and you should do so more often. After you are well again, of course.”

 

John smiled as much as he was able. "I'm sorry too Sherlock. For behaving like an adolescent, for shutting you out. And most importantly, for wasting time, not realizing how I loved you. I knew I cared for you,”

 

“Yes, you’ve said as much over the years.”

 

“I was blind to the fact that there was nothing platonic about it. And I’d be happy to kiss away your nightmares every night Sherlock. Will you please tell me what they are about?” John’s voice was getting lower and sounding more strained.

 

“They’re about you, getting hurt.” Sherlock felt John’s hand twitch in his, he was trying to squeeze his hand in comfort. _Always the caregiver even when someone obviously needed to look after him for once._ “The dream is structurally the same every night. Details change. Like how you get hurt or why. But the premise of the dream is always someone hurting you, to get to me.”

 

John attempted another lackluster hand squeeze. He’d be so happy when he got his body back in good standing. His one good eye was getting heavy, the medicine was kicking in. They had him on some time release morphine. Absently he thought to himself, he hoped he didn't have to worry about Sherlock being in a hospital around all these drugs. He dozed back off.

 

When he woke back up hours later he could hear Dr. Julian speaking. “Dr. Watson will make a full recovery. Don't worry your friend-”

 

“Boyfriend.” John corrected in a broken voice.

 

Sherlock smiled softly. “No talking John.”

 

“Yes he is quite right Dr. Watson. The more you talk the worst you're making your throat. As you know, you suffered from tension pneumothorax. The Emergency Response Team gave you definitive treatment, inserting a tube through your underarm to release the pressure out of your lung. And as you also may be aware of, we can't treat your fractured ribs until your collapsed lung is healed. We are going to keep you here until we are able to tape up your ribs.”

 

John nodded his understanding. After the doctor left, John croaked out, “Did you threaten the doctor?”

 

Sherlock smiled. “Of course I did.”

 

A week goes by, John was going to be released from the hospital today. Sherlock had stayed the whole week with him. They spent that time combining information from their separate research. John was communicating with Sherlock through hand written notes or typing while on his computer.

 

Sherlock had asked John about the night he was attacked and John simply told him they would discuss it when he was released. The police had also came by asking for a statement, John wrote to them that all he could recall was the number of guys. That he couldn't even give them a location because he had been walking aimlessly.

 

John was becoming increasingly restless. He wasn't suppose to talk. He was still very sore. His research into medical trails and researches yielded nothing. And there was so much to discuss with Sherlock. This case had already stretched out too long. At least no more bodies had turned up.

 

Later that day, Sherlock pushed John in his wheelchair to the edge of the curb, helping John out of it unnecessarily. Holding on to John’s arm he walked him around to the passenger side, helping him in the vehicle. Going back to the wheelchair he gathered up all their stuff that he had dragged to the hospital to try and pass the time. Sherlock was nervous, going back to the hotel room would be their first time alone since their confessionals, so to speak. And to be honest he was a bit excited to see where this new turn in their relationship would take them. Sherlock felt like he had stalled enough, climbing into the driver seat, he turned and looked at John.

 

“Ready?” John nodded that was. But still Sherlock hesitated.

 

John understood Sherlock’s hesitation. He placed a hand over Sherlock's on the gearshift, leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss against Sherlock’s slightly parted lips. John lingered there for a heartbeat, taking in the sensation of kissing Sherlock. He pulled away, leaving his hand where it was, looking Sherlock in the eyes he attempted to ask him, “Better?” but his voice was rusty from non-use, and it came out as barely audible. Sherlock still understood him, nodding, he pulled his hand away from the gearshift, starting the vehicle he drove them to their temporary home.

 

When they arrived back to the hotel, Sherlock sent John up ahead, grabbing all of their items and heading in. He found John waiting at the elevator for him instead.

 

“What’s wrong?” Sherlock shouted over the noise from the lobby. The hotel was having a convention of sorts and there were people dressed in all sorts of costumes.

 

John shook his head. He pressed the button to call the elevator, when it came they stepped in it in tandem. “I thought neither of us should go anywhere in the hotel alone.” John rasped out.

 

“Sorry, I wasn't thinking.”

 

“No. Because of the convention. Too many unknowns.”

 

They stepped off on their floor. John and Sherlock walking side by side. When they reached their room, John pulled his gun out, Sherlock had given it to him before leaving the hospital. Sliding the key in Sherlock shoved the door open, John entered first making sure the room was clear. He even checked the bathroom and closet. After Sherlock sat their stuff  on the table, John motioned for Sherlock to check under the beds.

 

The room was clear.

 

John sagged with relief, and then suddenly he found himself being pulled into Sherlock’s arms. With the height difference, John’s face was snug against Sherlock's chest. He returned the embrace, wrapping his arms around Sherlock. Sherlock rested his chin on top of John’s head.

 

“This is all I've wanted to do since finding you on the bed, struggling to breath. Is that normal? Is this okay?” John nodded against his chest, “That was the worst ten minutes of my life.”

 

Pulling away, Sherlock held John at arms length, “Alright then, you've dallied long enough, tell me what happened the night you were attacked.”


	12. Chapter 12 (title is wip)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's out of the hospital. The case remains.

John made himself comfortable on his bed, placing pillows against the headboard to support him. They had loosely wrapped his ribs, to help support them healing correctly. He still had a multitude of bruising on his body, from head to toe, and John was still sore, but he was ready for some action, he was tired of being cooped up.

 

Sherlock grabbed John a bottle of water and brought a chair over to the side of the bed. Passing the bottle of water to John, Sherlock proceeded to take off John’s shoes.

 

“Thank you Sherlock.” John took a long drink of water. “Okay. When I left here that night I went walking West. I didn't have a destination in mind, I just needed to be alone and clear my head. It was already dark when I left, if you recall, and the further I walked, the deeper in thought I became. When I looked up there was barely any lights on in the area, and it looked a bit worn down. I turned to head back, but there were three guys standing there. I bid them goodnight and tried to pass. Four more guys stepped out of an alley to my right. I glanced around and noticed right off that we were isolated, no one was around. Three of them I’m sure I could've took, but seven there was no way. Again, I tried to walk around them, and again they wouldn't let me pass. I asked them if I could help them, one guy came forward. And he had a deep accent, he said he, “I’m  sorry Dr. Watson, but we need you and Mr. Holmes to drop the investigation. Or else more of us will die.” I told him if we stopped the investigation, more of them would die for certain, and we couldn’t let that happen.”

 

Sherlock had closed his eyes while John relayed his story, it helped him to picture it in his mind. He felt like he was getting to the part where they attacked him, and he wanted John to realize he was here for him if need be. Blindly he placed a hand on John's thigh, giving a small squeeze to encourage him.

 

“One of the other men stepped towards me, I could see he was frightened. He started yelling how I didn't understand, those had died were being punished, and if outsiders continued to meddle, they would all die. A couple of guys yelled at him to shut up. And that’s  when someone hit me from behind with a board or something flat and hard, it caught me across the shoulders and the back of my head.”

 

John paused to drink some water, his voice had been steadily getting stronger, but it still took a toll on his throat.

 

“Someone followed that blow with another so fast I couldn't defend myself or even try protect myself. I fell. And that is when they took turns kicking and stomping me. The first guy that had spoken to me asked had I changed my mind yet, I gave him the finger and he kicked my hand. Eventually they walked away, leaving me on the ground. I got up and slowly made my way back here. I don't know what time it was, I laid across the bed, and then you started having a nightmare. And I was h-, I couldn't...I couldn't go to you. I laid there, hearing you suffer.”

 

John had to pause again, this time because he was getting emotional. He took another sip of water anyways, allowing him time to recompose himself. Sherlock stood up, toed off his shoes and sat next to John on the bed, placing an arm around the shorter man’s shoulders. He hugged John against him. He could hear pain in his voice, it hadn't been there when he told him about the attack, the pain hadn't crept into his voice until he started discussing not being able to wake him up. Sherlock didn't understand why this would distress John. It was just a nightmare, John had been the one in real trouble.

 

John sighed and continued his story.

 

“I berated myself for even wanting to be there for you, I told myself you made it clear you didn’t care for me in such a way. I was so grateful that your nightmare was shorter that night.”

 

“No, I just had to wake up for it to continue.”, Sherlock explained.

 

“Well, I fell asleep eventually, but woke up with difficulty breathing. I figured, it was as good a night to die as any. I tried calling EMS, but my hands, I couldn't hold the phone. I tried to get up and couldn't. I literally gave up in that moment Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock didn't speak, he couldn't at the moment. There seemed to be something wrong with his voice. There was a lump and it was rendering him speechless. Is this what it felt like to be emotional? To be ruled by your emotions? Thinking about John just giving up and dying seized Sherlock with fear and an emotion he was unsure of. Since he first deduced John so many years ago, he just always assumed he’d be there with him. Sure he has had close calls with losing John either because he had pissed him off with his anti-sentiment ways, or on occasion, someone threatening John’s life. But on each of those occasions, John forgave him or they faced down the gun together and Sherlock had faith that as long as they were together they could face any challenge. He had not realized how many problems could arise from taking someone for granted; knowingly or otherwise.

 

John looked up and was mortified to see tears falling down Sherlock’s face. For him to be so emotionally shut off this was the second time in a week he had cried because of John. John felt awful about that. He took Sherlock’s hand and instead of dwelling on the obvious, he decided their best move would be to focus on the case and not beat themselves up, or each other for their stupidity.

 

“So I didn't tell you the most interesting part about the seven men who attacked me Sherlock.”

 

“No?”

 

“Nope. Out of those seven men, the seven men who remain alive on our list, not one of them was Dimitri.”

 

Sherlock shifted so he could see John's face better, “Are you certain?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

“You know what that means John?”

 

“Yup! That he is most likely our killer, and we let him go.”

 

“Exactly! But I am certain he was my server the night before he broke into our room. Was he scooping us out? Had he intended to kill us that night, but you weren't here? A consummate actor then.” Sherlock was still looking at John. “And you _knew_ something was not right about him. We should take your approach more often, tying people up. We can start with me.” Sherlock winked at John.

 

“You're unbelievable you know that?”

 

“Yes, I’ve been told. Mainly by you my dear Watson.”

 

“I think we should contact the D.I. in charge of the case. I know they said no more bodies pertaining to this case have turned up, but I think they should search this hotel.” John said getting back to business.

 

Sherlock, not realizing it, pouted, for once he was more interested in another person and not a case. Sighing disheartedly he pulled out his phone.

 

An hour later the local police were on the premises. They searched the offices and employee accessible only locations. Not finding anything. Sherlock and John had accompanied the police on their walk through. John was sure they would find something and was going over the layout of the hotel in his head, trying to figure out if they missed a spot.

 

Sherlock was standing close to John, his hand itched to take the other man’s hand, but that would be inappropriate. He wondered if John felt this way, the new wonder of a relationship. Distracted. No interest in anything but the other person. The feeling, no maybe need was a stronger word, to touch the other person. To not only assure himself that he was real, but also, Sherlock was terrified of something happening to John again.

 

John stood with his hands clasped behind his back, he shifted so his back was perpendicular to Sherlock’s side.He reached out a finger and looped it around one of Sherlock’s. Sherlock couldn't help the grin that settled on his face.

 

“You're hovering Sherlock. I am fine and nothing will happen to me. We have a building full of police, we’re safe.”

 

Pulling away John slowly ran a hand through his hair, back to thinking about the case. Several minutes go by of Sherlock not trying to stare and John brainstorming. The police had just finished searching the kitchens, when John excitedly proclaimed, “The roof! No one has searched the roof.”

 

The group filed up to the rooftop. The hotel was huge so there were plenty of places on the roof that a body could be hidden.

 

Twenty minutes later they hear, “Over here! I found him!” John and Sherlock looked at one another. “It’s not Dimitri.” Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

 

“No, I don't believe it will be.” John agreed. “You're not rushing over there to study the body first? Who are you?”

 

“He’s not going anywhere, I much rather study you.” Sherlock countered. “And I am Sherlock Holmes, I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

 

John gasped at Sherlock, “You sure have gotten cheeky lately.”

 

“I have, haven't I?”

 

“Excuse me? Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, they are waiting on your assessment before touching the bodies.”

 

“So you _can_ teach an old dog new tricks.” Sherlock muttered under his breath.

 

“Sherrrrlock, behave.” John admonished. “Wait, you said bodies? How many?”

 

The officer looked stricken. “At first we thought there was just one, now, we can see at least five.”

 

John's eyes bugged out, “Five!? Sherlock do you suppose he has deviated from the list?”

 

“It’s possible, he is a psychopath. But no one, I am assuming has been in touch with the other people on the list since we called them, he could still be targeting them.”

 

The men approached the bodies. The smell was bad, but not as bad as if they had been in a tropical climate.

 

“Sherlock…”

 

“I see it John. He _has_ changed up his game, at least a little.”


	13. The Chase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really thrilled with this chapter, a bit of a filler. Chapter title a wip.

“Good God.” John exclaimed. Even Sherlock who normally isn't moved by death cursed under his breath. When they first approached the bodies the difference in these victims were so glaring that the men wasn't hit with the full brutal reality of what they were looking at. The bodies were shoved haphazardly into a crevice in a wall. The wall looked to be mostly apart of the decorative motif; a bit of the wall seem to have crumbled away making a perfect hideaway for the bodies. A tarp in a neutral color had been draped over the opening, providing a bit of camouflage to the location.

Sherlock seemed hesitant to get any closer. “You alright Sherlock?” John inquired.

 

“Yes of course.” Sherlock took a shallow breath and started studying the scene.

 

“John.” Sherlock called John over to him.

 

John squated down next to Sherlock. “What is it?”

 

“I can’t do this. You have to finish up here.”

 

John looked at him questioningly. “Of course y-”

 

“No. I can’t. “ Sherlock turned and looked John in the eyes. “I keep picturing you. Mixed in with...them. I can’t.”

 

John’s expression softened. “I’m getting better at deducing Sherlock, but I'm not you. These people,” John pointed at the bodies, “they deserve the best. _You_ are the best. Now pull your head out of your arse and let's get to work.” John stood up, hands behind his back.

 

Sighing Sherlock stood up as well and asked something he had never asked in his history of consulting. “Could someone take pictures of the bodies exactly as they are?” These police officers had never worked with Sherlock and didn't know how rare a thing this was, it was a keen to Sherlock asking for help.

 

An officer ran up and took pictures of the bodies, while he was doing that the D.I. walked up to Sherlock and John. “I heard you say that the killer has changed up his pattern?”

 

“That’s correct.” John supplied.

 

“How could you tell?”

 

Sherlock answered this time. “Four of the bodies are still wearing their hotel uniforms, implying they still worked here at the time of death. Up till now the killer has only killed the victims _after_ they were no longer employed. And the last body, he has no clothes on at all. He was left with only has his pants and an undershirt. It is my guess that he has been up here the longest and that he is also an employee, possibly one of the ones we could not get in touch with. The killer took his uniform.”

 

The D.I. let out a low whistle, and rocked back on his heels. “So you're saying, this killer is posing as a hotel employee?”

 

“Most assuredly. In fact we had a visit from him. Although at the time we thought he was one of the intended victims.”

 

Sherlock stooped over the pile of bodies again, studying from different angles. “Could the M.E. lay all the bodies out please. I don't think the way they are stacked will tell us anything aside from the order they were killed.”

 

Sherlock observed as the M.E. and another police officer laid the bodies out, side by side. The last body's face was badly beaten. Post mortem of course.

 

John was off to the side watching the police officers that were hovering on the sidelines. One officer in particular kept drawing his eye, it was just something about him. None of the other officers was talking to him. And he was watching the bodies intently, but not in a dissociated manner. He had a predatory air about him. Just then the guy turned his head and made eye contact with John. He smirked, looking back to the bodies one more time and then turned and walked off.

 

“Excuse me, excuse me.” John was pushing through the group, trying to follow the police officer. He was almost certain that he was not an officer, but in fact their killer. He couldn't run because of his taped ribs. Not only would the running jar his ribs too much, the tape restricted his breathing and he would most likely pass out from exertion.

 

By time he reached the stairwell he could hear footsteps rapidly receding, there was no way he would ever catch up. He turned to go back to the crime scene and bumped right into Sherlock.

 

“Was it him?”

 

“I think so.” Sherlock brushed by John going after their suspect. “Bloody hell.” John started a slow descent down the stairs. He had no way of knowing what floor the suspect got off on. Or if he went all the way to the bottom. John decided to come out on their own floor.

 

As soon as he exited the stairwell a hand covered his mouth and gripped him around the chest tightly. “Go back home, and drop this case Dr. Watson.” The man behind him shoved him hard into the wall and took off down the hall. John was slightly stunned from the impact, acting strictly on impulse, John took out his Sig Sauer P226R, aimed and shot at the the suspect just as he would have disappeared around a corner. John watched him go down out of sight. He hurried as much as possible to reach the man. But of course, by time he got to the spot, nothing was there but a wet bloodstain.

 

John leaned against the wall trying to catch his breath and get his wits back about him. Bending over gingerly, hands resting on his knees, he noticed a couple drops of blood that almost blended in with the dark carpeting.

 

Walking closerto it, he saw a couple drops. Every couple of feet there was a bit more blood that he could follow.

 

He continued to follow the droplets like a macabre bread crumb trail. The trail ended abruptly in the elevator. John stopped at every floor to see if there were any more drops. Nothing. He took the elevator to the lobby. He saw nothing out of place. No blood either. As he was stepping back into the elevator Sherlock stuck his hand through the door, successfully stopping the elevator. Stepping in with John, he straightened his jacket and hair.

 

“Anything?” Sherlock asked.

 

“Yes. I shot him.”

 

Sherlock turned to face John then, taking in John's pained, flushed appearance.

 

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Sherlock’s tone darkened with unspoken threats.

 

“I'm fine Sherlock. But it's the weirdest thing, he could’ve. But he just warned me off. Almost makes me feel bad about shooting him.”

 

“Well now we get to go back upstairs and explain our dashing off.”

 

“I'm getting the feeling that one of the victims on the roof won't be a hotel employee.”

 

“Okay but even so John, let's say he killed a police officer, took the uniform, just in case. How did he know they would be here today? There has to be a mole!” he said excitedly.

 

“Or a bug. We did call the Detective Inspector.” John supplied.

 

“Thank god Mycroft isn't dealing with this case. He would accuse me of blundering it from the start.”

 

“It’s has been an unusual case.”

 

Back up top. Sherlock and John brought the D.I. up to speed.”

 

“So the blood trail just stopped? Is it possible someone is helping him?”

 

“I suppose. This case is so strange already as it is. Can we get someone to sweep the room for bugs?” Sherlock asked.

 

“Of course.”

 

“Sir, I, um...think you might want to come see this.” a uniformed officer interrupted. The D.I. sighed and followed his subordinate back to the crime scene.

 

“How much you want to bet it's one of their men?”

 

“Sherlock!”

 

“No good?”

 

“No.” John smiled warmly at Sherlock.

 

“Who is going to tell his family?” the uniformed officer was asking as Sherlock and John joined them. They were standing around the male body with the badly beaten face. There was a tattoo of a name on the underside of a wrist. At least now they knew why he was beaten post mortem.

 

“Your missing officer I presume?” the D.I. nodded sadly.

 

“Sherlock, let's have a look at those bodies so they can call next of kin and sweep for the bug.”

 

Sherlock and John made quick work of the bodies. “These bodies give us no more information than the others. They died in the same fashion.” Sherlock complained in the elevator on the way back down.

 

“Actually Sherlock, they tell us that the killer has not been as idle as we had thought. The bottom two bodies, have been dead approximately a week. So they died on either side of the night I was attacked. The third body, dead about four days, and the last two died in the last 24 to 48 hours.”

 

When they reached their room, an officer was waiting. Sherlock looked to John to ask for pen and paper. Bless him, he already had them out and was scribbling a note.

 

_“If there is a bug found you want to leave it, correct?”_

 

Sherlock nodded his head. John wrote another note to the officer letting him know their intentions. If he finds any bugs, leave them, but point them out. Also no speaking. Sherlock and he will carry on as if they haven't a clue about the possibilities of a bug.

 

The three men entered the room. “Are you alright John?” Sherlock asked, real concern in his voice.

 

“Yes, yes. Just a bit sore. I'm suppose to be on bed rest, remember?”

 

“I haven't the foggiest idea why, you already sit around and let me do all the work.” Sherlock winked at John to take the sting out of his words.

 

“Oh really now? I was the one who spotted the guy, and went after him.”

 

“Yeah but you were so lazy, I had to chase him down.”

 

In their faux argument the men had been drawing closer and closer, there was barely a foot between them now.

 

“That may be so, Sherlock, but again, as lazy as I am, I still manage to get a shot in. Which I have mixed feelings about. But nonetheless.”

 

Sherlock reached up and touched a new bruise that was forming on the side of John’s face. “And he still managed to get away and hurt you again in the process.” Remembering they had a physical audience, Sherlock stepped away from John. “And I don't understand why this killer is so reticent to hurt you, but has killed a dozen other people so far.” John gave him him a scathing look and Sherlock added quickly, “Oh you know what I mean, don’t be so sensitive.”

 

So far the officer found only a single bug and no video equipment. He scribbled something out on John’s note pad and held it up. _“I am finished. Just the one bug then. It will be able to pick up everything said in this room, bathroom and maybe outside the door. None of my business, but are the two of you a couple?”_

 

They both nodded their heads in affirmation, John adding, “Recently so.” The officer smiled genuinely and wrote, _“Best of luck. And please catch this maniac.”_

 

“Did you hear that?” John asked walking over to the door to let the officer out.

 

I think you are become paranoid, I didn't hear anything. See no one out there.” Sherlock stated, playing alone.

 

John closed the door back behind the retreating officer.

 

Sherlock approached John, pulling him into a hug. “I am so glad today is over. We need to get you in bed. You are absolutely depleted.”

 

 _This_ doesn't bother you?” John asked returning his embrace.

 

“Heavens no. Why should it?”

 

“Well, you have never exactly been an affectionate person. You know, sentiment and all. But more than not, you’re the one reaching for me. A bit out of character is all.”

 

Sherlock thought about what John said for a few moments. “Well I guess we can chalk it up to me never really allowing myself to care about someone before. So I am like a child when it comes to romantic interactions. I do what feels good or natural. I haven't had time to develop societal stigmas.”

 

“I guess that’s a good thing, it means I should never have to second guess myself with you, or us.”

 

Sherlock let go of John, “That is correct. Now, go shower and to bed with you.”

 

When John exited the shower roughly twenty minutes later, Sherlock was stretched out on John's bed, fast asleep. John chuckled. He hadn’t got much sleep sitting up at the hospital with him for the past week, it was understandable. John was slightly hungry but he was also extremely tired, he had been afraid he would fall on his face in the shower. John turned off all the lights and climbed under the covers.

  



	14. Inspiring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so hard...

 

Sherlock slept soundly with no nightmares. He could probably thank exhaustion for that. Stretching he felt a delicious warmth surrounding him. Cracking open one eye he saw John nestled up against his side with one arm thrown across his waist in a proprietary fashion. Sherlock smiled, placing one hand over John’s on his stomach and the other he rested across the top of the pillow above John’s head. He thought back to what John had said the night before, about how free Sherlock had been acting with John. It was true, John appeared to hesitate and think about his actions before doing them. He had even done that with past girlfriends. Sherlock on the other hand, he had no ideal what society norms were for relationships. Hell, John was still trying to school him about non-romantic societal norms.

 

But luckily, Sherlock was already in the habit of getting what he wanted. If it wasn't something he could just take or do, he was never above outwitting someone to swing things in his favor. That was true anyways, before John. Yes he still played his blogger time to time to get his way, but John gave him pause where there was none before.

 

Sherlock’s mind turned to their case. He and John were in rare form. John was picking up on far more than Sherlock was. And he wasn't sure if it was because he had been riddled with irrational fear for John. And John has just been, brilliant. It truly made Sherlock feel like a heel to not have noticed how clever John really was. Sherlock still couldn’t help but think he, no they, we're missing something.

 

John stirred next to Sherlock, waking slowly. Blinking up at Sherlock John smiled, “Good morning Sherlock.”

 

“Good morning. How do you feel?”

 

“A bit sore, but better.”

 

“Good. Do you fancy a walk this morning?”

 

“Work or pleasure?”

 

“Always work.” Sherlock said bending down to brush a kiss across John’s lips.

 

“I think I rather like this side of you Sherlock.” John weaved his fingers through Sherlock's dark curls, dragging him down for another kiss. “We don't even have to do a walkabout, we could just stay here…” John suggested, knowing when he did, it was a useless suggestion.

 

“Or,” Sherlock said excitedly getting out of the bed, “you could have yourself a little wank and then accompany me on a morning walk.” Sherlock winked down at John.

 

“ Let’s just have our walk. There is work to be done, yes?”

 

“Precisely!”

 

Roughly forty or so minutes later Sherlock and John were walking out of the hotel.

 

“Alright Sherlock. Spill it.”

 

Sherlock looked at John with a confused expression settled on his face. “I have nothing to discuss. Nothing in particular anyways. Although, I would like for you to walk me through the case thus far.”

 

“Me? Heavens why? Are you looking for a good laugh this morning?”

 

Sighing with total exasperation Sherlock explained his reasoning. “Truthfully John, you seem more in tune with this case. And I think you are seeing this case far more objectively than I am. I also can’t shake the feeling that you are on the precipice of a revelation and maybe I can do for you, what you always manage to do for me.”

 

“Annnd that is?” John pressed.

 

“Inspire genius level thinking.”

 

“Sherlock, you do th-”

 

Sherlock stopped walking turning to John. “No. You have always, from day one thought me to be a miracle worker of the intellectual sort. You have never held back your words of praise or wonder. And I have always strived to never disappoint you John Watson. To disappoint the image you have of me in that clever little head of yours. You push me to be brilliant.”

 

John stared up at Sherlock, mouth agape.

 

“Close your mouth John.”

 

John snapped his mouth shut, resuming their walk. “Okay. Alright then.”

 

The men talked through the case from the beginning to the finding of the new bodies yesterday. Stopping at a cafe they decided to grab something to eat.

 

“I do feel like I am missing something though, medically.” Sherlock raised his brow at John’s choice of words. Ignoring Sherlock, John pressed on. “I really feel like I’ve seen the answer to the ‘how' of their deaths and I'm just overlooking it. Or not understanding it.” Just then Sherlock’s phone rang.

 

Answering, Sherlock kept his eyes on John. “Sherlock speaking. Yes, I see. Are you sure. Okay, yes, thank you, we will be in touch.”

 

“What? What’s happened” John asked sounding slightly concerned.

 

Sherlock leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs at the knee. He tapped his index finger against his chin as he thought, turning his phone in his other hand.

 

“Sherlock.”

 

Mentally shaking himself Sherlock looked John in the eyes. “That was the M.E., the news he gave me will either help you, or muddle the water even further. John leaned in so he could make sure he heard Sherlock clearly. “He said the five bodies found yesterday, the four hotel employees were injected with something. There was a needle mark on each of their necks, just below the ear. And the police officer died in the same manner as the first victims. We were also correct in our assumption that the police officer had died long before the hotel employees.”

 

Falling back against the chair, John rubbed a hand over his face. “Bloody Hell. Different methods, same results. The first victims were all killed remotely. The killer was able to administer the drug/poison and it worked it’s way through their systems. The second set of victims, were injected with the _same_ drug/poison? Seems so bloody far fetched.”

 

“Is there a drug or poison that can cause rapid organ failure?” Sherlock asked.

 

“Not that I'm aware of. None of my research came back with drugs or poisons known to cause rapid or otherwise any organ failure. And drugs that were being tested to treat ailments, none came back as having organ failure listed as a side effect. And even if one was found how can he administer it and it be time released?”

 

“What if he could somehow give them a frozen dose of it?”

 

“But how?”

 

The waitress served their food and the men ate in silence.

 

When they asked for their check, the waitress asked if they would like to try their new Italian style gelato. Sherlock declined as did John.

 

They made their way back to the hotel, each man lost in their own thoughts.

 

They were in the elevator on their way up to their room when John cried out excitedly, turning to Sherlock he grabbed his face between his hands and pulled him down into a quick, but heated kiss. When they pulled apart, Sherlock was short of breath.

“I imagine this must be what it’s like when you say I inspire you. You're a bloody genius Sherlock.” Someone cleared their throat. John looked around Sherlock. “My apologies.” He hadn't even realized there was someone else in the elevator.

 

Sherlock straightening his coat and scarf asked, “What did I say that was thought provoking?”

 

“Ice cream. Or gelato rather.” Sherlock looked confused. They came upon their floor both men getting out and walking to their room. “You said what if the victims were given a frozen dose.” John stopped walking several feet from their room. If he gave the first victims ice cream of some other frozen treat that was laced with the mystery component I suppose it could act as a time release drug. Instead of killing them right out.”

 

Sherlock smirked at John, “See, it does work. I believe you are brilliant therefore you are inspired to be so.”

 

They started forth again, John saying, “Yeah, but I wish I knew what the mystery component was.”

 

Once inside, John toed off his shoes, shrugged out of his jacket and collapsed across his bed face down. Sherlock standing at the foot of the bed looked down on John as he leisurely took off his scarf, coat and blazer.

 

Kicking off his shoes he climbed on the bed straddling John's arse. John stiffened beneath him. Sherlock began to massage John’s lower back. John sighed relaxing into Sherlock’s touch. “Bless you Sherlock, bless you. What gave me away?”

 

“It was easy really. You were walking extremely stiff and slow, normally you have a very quick but militant gait.” Sherlock kneaded his fingers into the stiff muscles of John’s middle back, working his way up to his shoulders. Sherlock leaned forward placing a kiss at the base of John’s neck. John shuddered. Sherlock decided to scoot down further so he was situated between John's arse and knees, giving him better maneuverability and access to John’s whole back. Sherlock worked at the tense muscles of his shoulders and neck, digging his thumb in. John groaned deeply, causing Sherlock to stop for a moment.

 

 _Christ! This was heaven. Who would’ve thought Sherlock was a master masseuse?_ John couldn’t help it, a small moan escaped his lips. Sherlock stilled above him. “Good god don't stop.” John said breathlessly. Sherlock squirmed a bit before resuming. Digging his knuckles into the muscle at the small of John's back, he rotated his hand. John buried his face in the sheets, unable to keep the soft moans and deep groans from escaping. Sherlock shifted again. _Was that? Sherlock was hard. He was sure of it._ When Sherlock bent to give his shoulder a kiss, John arched back into Sherlock, testing his theory. Sherlock gave his own barely audible moan. _Yup. Sherlock was definitely hard._

 

John expected Sherlock to shy away, but he surprised John by pressing into him.

John bit his hand to keep his vocalizations to himself.  

 

Sherlock continued to massage John’s back but it felt more like caresses to John, but he suppose that could have just been the mood he was currently in. But, he could honestly say his back didn't hurt as bad and he didn't feel as tight and tense.

 

As if reading his mind, Sherlock stilled his hands, placing another kiss against John’s shoulder. “I suppose I am done. How was that?”

 

John turned over onto his back, Sherlock lifting up to accommodate John’s position change. Sherlock settled back down across John’s thighs. John’s own arousal was now very evident.

 

“Sherlock, how experienced are you, sexually?”

 

“Not very. Why?”

 

John made a hand gesture between the two of them, and then looked down pointedly at their laps. 

 

Sherlock followed his gaze, brows furrowed, “Well, there is that.” Tentatively Sherlock stroked his fingertips over the bulge secreted away in John’s trousers. John gave a sharp hiss. Sherlock looked up quickly, John didn't appear to be in any pain so he continued his exploration. Eyes staring intently at John’s face, looking for any tell tale signs. He took the heel of his hand and stroked it up John’s length. John’s mouth dropped open, gasping; Sherlock smirked. Feeling a bit more bold he proceeded to undo John’s belt and trousers, pulling his manhood from his pants.

 

John’s penis jumped in Sherlock's hand. Sherlock let it go, watching fascinated as it flopped on John's stomach. John had closed his eyes at some point and peeked out at Sherlock now. “Is everything alright Sherlock?”, John’s breathing was slightly labored.

 

“I believe so, yes.” Sherlock ran his fingers lightly up a bulging vein along John’s penis, causing John to thrust up against his hand. “Fascinating.” Sherlock mumbled. Undoing his own trousers he pulled out his penis and studied it for a moment before grabbing John’s hand and placing it on him. Sherlock gasped loudly.

 

John closed his hand around Sherlock, gripping tight, causing a shudder to run through Sherlock. John started stroking his novice detective slowly. He suspected that Sherlock had absolutely no experience even when it came to wanking. Moving his hand to and from, John twisted his hand as he stroked, tugging lightly at the head whenever he reached the tip.

 

Sherlock had closed his eyes and allowed his head to loll back, elongating his neck. John wanted to sink his teeth in that perfectly porcelain neck.

 

Blindly Sherlock reached for John’s penis, mimicking John’s movements. Sherlock was a quick study.

 

Sherlock having the least amount of experience between the two men found himself thrusting into John’s hand. Both men were panting, and moaning.

 

John watched Sherlock become undone. That man was always in control of every little aspect of his life. Seeing him like this was highly arousing. And John couldn't help feeling a bit smug, knowing he was the one causing 'The Great Sherlock Holmes' to lose control.

 

Sherlock hands were no longer as sure as he stroked John, he was faltering, forgetting what his hands were suppose to be doing. He was lost. God help him he was lost in the smoldering touch of John. He wondered absently if ‘real' sex would be anything like this. It was similar to receiving a high from a case or his ‘occasional’ high from narcotics. He could feel a sort of pressure building inside him. It was kind of terrifying...but, the immense pleasure, it was well worth the fright. “John?”

 

“Yes Sherlock?”

 

“I-I think…I am close to...Johnnn...I can’t…”

 

“It's okay Sherlock, I'm here with you. Just ride it out, you're so close. That’s right, just enjoy the way your body feels.” John pumped his fist faster, Sherlock’s pre-cum slicking the way.

 

“John! I'm flying apart!” Sherlock cried out.

 

John sat up, capturing Sherlock’s lips kissing him gingerly, attempting to calm his frayed nerves. He took his free hand and ran it through Sherlock’s dark, beautiful curls, scraping his nails against his scalp. Sherlock shuddered and moaned against John’s mouth, and his own hands were now gripping John’s shoulders as if he was afraid he was really going to fly away. John broke away from the kiss, zeroing in on that delicious neck. First he licked a wet strip across the frantic pulse there. Being reward with another moan from Sherlock. Latching his mouth over the pulse, John nipped lightly, stroking his tongue over the spot. Sherlock's nails dug into his flesh, as he gasped. John sucked the beating pulse into his mouth, applying a bit of pressure with his teeth. Releasing the skin he soothed the spot again with his tongue. Pulling back, he looked up at Sherlock, his face was flushed and lips parted as he still thrust into John's fist erratically. John kissed Sherlock’s lips quickly and then bit down hard on the opposite side of his neck. Sherlock cried out loudly.

 

“John!”

 

John felt warm, thick liquid hit his hand. He pulled away again, wanting to watch Sherlock as he experienced what John expected was his first orgasm. He was beautiful. Eyes squeezed tightly closed, cheeks painted pink, his cupid bow lips trembling and parted.

 

John continued lightly stroking Sherlock’s length and now his back. Helping him through his orgasm. Sherlock was quivering in his lap. John placed both arms around Sherlock, holding him and careful to keep his sticky hand away from Sherlock’s shirt. Sherlock rested his head against the top of John’s.

 

Several long moments later, with his head still resting against John’s, Sherlock whispered, “God that was exhausting.”

 

John laughed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock are just starting out. I didn't want it to be taken lightly. I didn't want to "cheapen" their first experience. Ugh....hope I succeeded.  
> I preferred the title "Ice Cream and Sex" but didn't want to give anything away.  
> Feedback on this chapter would be greatly appreciated. And thanks for reading.


	15. Brainstorming

John patted Sherlock on the arse, taking the hint Sherlock climbed off of John.

“Stop pouting Sherlock. I need to wash up.” Looking over Sherlock's appearance he added, “Honestly, so do you.”

 

John walked to the bathroom to clean up. While he was in there, Sherlock looked at his penis and the mess on his pants. “Traitor.” he accused. Grabbing a change of clothes he waited for his turn in the bathroom.

 

John exited the bathroom shirtless, running a towel over his chest. Sherlock licked his lips and felt something tighten in his gut. John catching the lip lick paused halfway across the room, eyes darkening just a tad. “Uh, it’s all yours.” Sherlock raised a brow at him. “The bathroom! The bathroom is yours.”

 

Sherlock smirked, crossing the room, stopping next to John. “I am well aware of this John.” Sherlock continued to the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar.

 

John shook his head at Sherlock. To be so inexperienced, he has always had a mouth on him. John sat down in front of his computer, trying to get back in work mode. He wasn't even sure if knowing what the actual drug or poison was, if it would help find the killer. Everything seemed so random and far fetched with this case. And Sherlock, bless him, but he wasn’t much help, he was too distracted. Distracted by nightmares. By himself maybe. John looked down at himself. Nah, he couldn't see himself as a distraction to Sherlock. He guess Sherlock was human agreeable and fallible. He was just off his game. He would suggest a vacation, but that would most likely drive the detective mad with boredom.

John laid out all of the victims and the profile and fact sheets he and Sherlock put together. There were 4 bodies found prior to being called in on the case. Then the three that happened before arriving. And lastly the five found on the roof. One being the police officer and didn't necessarily fit into the whole scheme of things.

 

Sherlock came out of the bathroom also shirtless. He saw that John was talking the case again. Part of Sherlock wanted to distract John away from the case. But at least one of them was focusing on the important things. Sherlock came up behind John’s chair, wrapping his arms around the shorter man’s shoulders, he placed a kiss against his cheek. “Anything new?” He asked. But before John could answer there was a knock at the door. “Did you order up food? Sherlock asked puzzled.

 

John looked to the door. “No.” John got up, retrieving his gun and standing to the side of the door.

 

Sherlock looked out of the peep hole and sighed dramatically. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Hello to you too brother of mine.” Mycroft said as he stepped into their room. “Put it away John, you won't be needing that.” Mycroft glanced casually around the room and then sat in John’s abandoned seat. “It’s about time you two sorted that whole mess out between you both. He looked over to John who was stuffing the Sig into his waistband. “I heard about your _incident_ John. I'm glad to see you are doing much better. Although, you might want to get you ribs re-taped up after what happened yesterday.” Oh and I have a scanner in my umbrella, you can speak freely without being overheard.”

 

John snagged a shirt and opted to sit on the edge of his bed, leaving the chair opposite Mycroft for Sherlock.

 

“What brings you here brother?” Sherlock asked snidely sitting.

 

“Don’t be stupid Sherlock, you know who I'm here. The body count is steadily going up, and while I am ecstatic you and Dr. Watson have finally moved to the next stage in your relationship, that is not nearly as important as finding the killer.” Turning to John Mycroft asked, “Have you identified the drug he is using?”

 

Sighing John shook his head. “When I examined their blood and contents of their stomach I found nothing out of the ordinary. Although Sherlock did figure out that he must be administering the drug in a frozen state.”

 

Mycroft stood. “Find who is behind these killings. I don't want anymore bodies turning up. I’m sure I don't have to express the importance of doing so.” Mycroft looked from John to Sherlock. “Goodbye dear brother. And John...”

 

“Yeah, yeah. I know the drill, look out for your brother. Goodbye Mycroft.” Mycroft walked out the door grim faced. John looked to Sherlock. “How does he do it? He just waltzes in and know things. How did he know about us?”

 

Sherlock smiled. “Easy. I texted him while you were showering last night. I couldn’t contain my excitement.”

 

John smirked. “No you didn't.”

 

“No I didn't. I told you, Mycroft is the British Government. I wouldn't be surprised if he had our room bugged before we arrived.”

 

John rubbed a hand over his face, laying back on the bed his mind going back to the case. There had to be something that he missed.

 

Sherlock stayed seated where he was and decided maybe he should at least try to help with the case. He started going over their notes as John had been doing. Suddenly John sat up swiftly, and then moaned out in pain. “You alright John?”

 

“Just fine. I believe your brother is right. I need to get my ribs taped up again.”

 

“So what is it you have figured out, or were you just in a rush to come kiss me?”

 

John smiled at Sherlock. “I was thinking of the different bodily functions and what if the body produced too much of something. Too much hormones, are whatever and it hit me. Two different things that could cause the body’s organs to fail but not be picked up on in blood test, unless you were looking for it. One being a condition called Hemochromatosis and the other too much of the hormone Secretin. I would need to retest the victim's/0 blood of course.”

 

“And what exactly is Hemochromatosis?” Sherlock asked.

 

“It’s when your body absorbs too kuchen iron. It can cause your liver to fail.”

 

“And Secretin?”

 

“If your liver produces that and it is what helps produce bile in your liver, too much of that hormone, your body would produce too much bile and again throw your body into a tailspin. Causing liver failure.”

 

“Brilliant. But I have to ask. In this case, does actually knowing what killed them help us find out who is doing the killings?”

 

John sighed tiredly. “You know, I asked myself the exact same thing. And no, I don't think it will. I mean sure someone clever and medically inclined would be the idea suspect. But truthfully anyone with an ideal could make this happen.”

 

Sherlock questioned further. “Okay but, would a lab be needed to combine whatever he is using with the ice cream or gelato or whatever the hell he is using?”

 

“No, not really. That is rather simple. All he would need to do is mix it in the frozen treat and the drug, or component would freeze. Although, keeping it frozen until consumption is a different story. At least for the first 8 victims. They other 4, he shot them up with it directly, killing them rather quickly.”

 

Sherlock found himself staring at John again. His clever, clever blogger. He was certain he wasn't the only one who underestimated John on a daily basis. John was staring out into space, lost in thought again. Several long minutes had passed when John seemed to snap out of it.

 

“Sherlock.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“I think I got it. I think I narrowed it down to who could have committed these murders.”

 

“I'm listening.”

 

“Remember the day I was attacked, I had gone out that morning with the coffee you had gotten me.”

 

“Yes. Now that you mention it, you came right back in and started disrobing. Rather aggressively I might add. What was that about?”

 

“Actually, that's what I'm getting at. When I had gone out of the hotel I dropped my coffee trying to avoid getting hit by an ice cream van. The coffee had splattered all over my trousers. That's why I changed in a fit.”

  
“So all we need to do is narrow down which ice cream vender has blood on his hands. Alright, let's go get you taped up and then to the police to get a list of all registered ice cream vans.” Sherlock grabbed the shirt he had elected to not put on after his shower, putting it on he said, “Let's go.”


	16. Modest Mind House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John need to catch a break in the case.

 

John sat shirtless on the examination table waiting on Dr. Julian to return with the rush X-rays results and the supplies to tape his ribs again. Sherlock and John stared at one another across the room. “You know John, you drive me to distraction.” Sherlock actually pouted at this.  

 

John unsure of how to respond to that decided to change the subject. “What did you say to the doctor Sherlock. When you threatened him.”

 

Sherlock simply smiled. “You know, the usual.” He was saved from saying more because the doctor returned just then.

 

“Okay Dr. Watson, you’re no worse for wear, but please try to stay out of trouble until you are fully healed.” The doctor proceeded to wrap John’s ribs, making sure to avoid Sherlock’s gaze. And Sherlock just grinned the entire time, taunting John.

 

When the doctor had finished, the men headed out of the hospital, but as they were exiting the building, John was jostled by another man rushing out the door at the same time.

 

The man apologized turning to John to make sure he was okay. John didn't look at the man as he reached out to Sherlock trying to steady himself. “It’s quite alright. Are you okay?” John asked, finally looking up at the man. Sherlock watched the interaction, raising his brow.

 

“Yes quite.” The man said hurriedly as he rushed off.

 

John held his side and grimaced. “Are you alright John?”

 

“I'm okay Sherlock, but let's not tell Dr. Julian about this, okay?”

 

“Are you sure John? Cause I have no qualms about going after that man and throttling him.” John chuckled and shook his head as they headed to their loaner, getting in. Once in, Sherlock made no attempt to start the vehicle.

 

“What Sherlock? I can hear you thinking.”

 

“That man that bumped into you, did you know him?”

 

John turned and looked at Sherlock suspiciously. “You're not...you're not jealous are you?”

 

“What? God no. You barely looked at the man, he didn't even have a chance with you. I asked because he looked at you as if he recognized you and felt you should recognize him as wella.”

 

John sat back in his seat thinking back to the brief encounter. “You know, he did seem vaguely familiar. But I can’t place his face. I wish I had your skill of recollection.” John shrugged it off and put on his seatbelt.

 

“So where to?”  Sherlock asked tapping the steering wheel.

 

“I don't know.”

 

“Don't you want to retest the blood?”

 

“What good will it do Sherlock? Honestly? What we need is a lead on the actual killer.” John argued. “Maybe, we could go back to the room, and I could visit my mind _closet_.”

 

“We could do that. I could walk you through the process, but I suggest starting with something much bigger than a closet.”

 

“It was a joke. Meant to compare the size of your brain, _palace,_ to my brain, _closet.”_

 

“Yes, I know what you meant, and you are every bit as smart as me. We just excel in different things. Don't sell yourself short John, I've spent far too much time telling you how average you are, that you now believe.”

 

Sherlock drove them back to the hotel. Both men were quiet, they were secretly excited to see if John could manage the same mind technique as Sherlock.

 

When the reached the hotel they headed straight to the room shedding their outerwear, and getting comfortable.

 

Sherlock suggested that he sit on his own bed while John lay on his; this way no one would get distracted. John lay down on his back in the center of his bed and Sherlock sat on the edge of his own, facing John.  

 

“Okay. Close your eyes. Imagine a house before you. A modest, one story house.”

 

“Why a modest one story?” John interrupted.

 

“Because that is who you are John. You are modest. Unpretentious. A straightforward man. From the outside view, you seem ordinary, unspectacular. But once you walk through the door, you see how well thought out and deep the inside really is.”

 

“Alright. One story, modest house.” John said getting them back on track, smiling slightly.

 

Sherlock kept his voice pitched low as he continued to walk John through the process.

“You have to imagine you are actually,   opening the door of that house. If envisioning the color of the door, the walls and the floors help you _be_ there, then do so.

You have to set aside a room for friends, lovers, and family. However many rooms you need and for whatever reason. Each room in your house is for a different purpose just like a real house. Locate the room you want for friends and associates.

 

Before you go in that room, you will need to decide how you want these faces categorized. Do you want it to be a filing system that you can flip through? Do you want it to be like a waiting room or lobby where you look at each person? You have to decide.

 

Now when you go in there, start off small. Try recalling people you readily remember and then steadily push your mind to recall other people. Since this is a room that will be for friends and associates, I would start with Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper, Lestrade, you get the ideal. Keep looking through this room until you come across the face of the guy that bumped into you earlier today. If you are capable of doing that I can try walking you through finding info you may have stored away. I am going to leave now. I will be right next door if you need me.”

 

_John  stood in the doorway of his house. The foyer was bright and inviting, the walls were in muted tones and he imagined he could feel warm sunshine and a light breeze from the open windows. He stepped forward moving through the hallway, passing the living room, and coming to a closed door to the right. There was no light spilling out from under the door. He placed a hand on the door and got hit with a strong sense of unease; he broke out in a light sweat._

 

_Never being one to back down because of fear, John turned the knob, pushing the door open just a bit. It was a basement. The sound of rapid gunfire reached his ears from below. Closing the door quickly, but quietly he moved on down the hall. The next door was open and it looked like their sitting area in the flat that he and Sherlock stared in real life, only it had had a makeover. Instead of heavy colors it was done in light muted tones just like his living room. The window was open and allowing fresh air to blow through the room. The one surprising element to the room was Mrs. Hudson, she was sitting on their couch sipping tea. John stepped into the room. “Mrs. Hudson, what are you doing in here? Shouldn't you be in the friends and associates room? Sherlock said-”_

 

_Mrs Hudson smiled at him, cutting him off and setting her cup down. “Sherlock said...John, I am exactly where I should be. I’m home. Why should I be in some stuffy room with all those other people?”_

 

 _“Huh.” John smiled and turned, leaving out of the room. On the opposite side of the hallway was another closed door, but light filtered through from under the door. On the door was a name placard that read_ Dr. John Watson _.  It made sense for this door to be closed. John opened the door and stepped through, letting the door close back behind him. It was a waiting room of sorts. Mike Stamford was there, as well as several other people whom he had either attended Bart’s with or who had been instrumental in his medical career. Even Major Sholto was there, no longer disfigured and smiling. Mike was talking to a gentleman in the back. He couldn’t see his face yet, but he was curious to who it could be. Making his way over to Mike and the unknown man, John was stopped several times by old colleagues greeting him._

 

_Finally reaching Mike, his friend turned to him smiling. “Ahh, John! You remember Hugh Brown?” The man turned around extending his hand to John._

 

_John  found himself staring into the face of the man who had bumped into him at the hospital. Out of habit John took the man's hand, shaking it heartily. But upon doing so, other bits of information started to come back to him. Like how he and Hugh had gotten along quite well, but Hugh hadn't had an easy time at Bart’s. He had been an instructor in Physiology. And, he was also head of the research in that particular field. And just as quickly another image flashed in front of him. Earlier today. When Hugh had bumped into him, he had grabbed his right shoulder as if he was in pain. He had been scared. That was part of the look he had given John. It was recognition, but also fear. Why would he fear John? They weren't mates, but they were far from enemies._

 

_Realization hit John like a bolt of lightning. Dropping Hugh’s hand, he turned and ran from the room and out the front door. John looked to the place next to his. It truly was a palace. He shouted, “Sherlock! I did it! Sherlock!”_

  
John blinked, Sherlock was sitting next to him on his bed, shaking him.


	17. Sorting It All Out

“John! Tell me exactly what you saw.” Sherlock stated shaking John lightly.

 

John looked confused for a moment, then realizing where he was he got excited. He started to tell Sherlock all the details of his Mind House.

 

Sherlock interrupted rudely, “Well, maybe don’t tell me everything. Just tell me the important things like were you able to locate where you knew the man from?”

 

John grinned at Sherlock. “I did. But that’s not all.”

 

“Well what? Tell me.”

 

John wrote on a piece of paper as he spoke aloud. “Since you were so bloody rude Sherlock, you’re going to have to wait. I’m starving. Let's order up.” But on paper he wrote, _“Forgot about bug. Lets leave.”_

 

“Well since you insist on prolonging the, mild at best, suspense, lets go out for some fish and chips. I didn't like the ones the hotel serves.”

 

“Seriously Sherlock?” John pretended to be put out.

 

“Yes. Now get your shoes on, I thought you were starving.” Sherlock and John got themselves together and left the hotel.

 

Once in the car John wrote again. _“We never checked the car. Lets grab something to eat for real. We can talk there.”_

 

“I know who the killer is. And also, maybe why he let me go. I just don't know why, well, not precisely why, or how he did it.” John said once they were seated across from one another in an outdoor café.

 

“Was it him? Was it your mate, the one who bumped into you?” Sherlock asked now just as excited.

 

“Yes!”

 

“Now, now tell me what you saw that made you realize it was him.”

 

John went back over it with Sherlock.

 

“I mean it fits, but what did you see that made you absolutely sure it’s him? We can't just go to the D.I. with what comes across as a hunch.”

 

“Okay. First, he taught and was apart of the PPhysiology Research Department at Bart’s. Second, he and I got along great. I was one of the only people who didn't give him a hard time. Which would explain why he was hesitant to hurt me, as you said.”

 

“Wait, why would _that_ explain his hesitation?” Sherlock asked genuinely baffled.

 

“Sentiment.”

 

“Ahh, carry on.”

 

“Okay, so where was I? Oh yeah, third, when he bumped into me he grabbed his right shoulder as if he was hurt. I shot the suspect in their posterior hypochondriac region-” John paused in the middle of his explanation, staring out into space for a heartbeat. Turning to Sherlock he murmured, “He was bleeding. He was bleeding Sherlock. When he was walking away there was a small red stain spreading. Oh god! No wonder he looked frightened when he saw me. He hadn’t expected to see me at the hospital. And without one of his disguises.”

 

“Disguises?”

 

“He was Dimitri and the cop. And you know, he was in an amateur theatre group back in the day. He had invited me to one of his shows, he was quite good actually.”

 

Sherlock stared at John. “And you figured this out by trying your Mind House for the _first_ time? Fascinating.” John beamed. “Did you walk through your whole house? Establishing different rooms?”

 

“No. I only saw 4 rooms before I ran out. I have a bloody basement Sherlock. But, I don't fancy having a look down there just yet.”

 

“Was there anything or anyone present that surprised you or seemed out of place? Sherlock probed.

 

“Just Mrs. Hudson. She was in a room by herself, she was uh, she was in our sitting room. Sipping tea.”

 

“Interesting. And was I there?”

 

“No. Why would you be?” Sherlock seemed hurt by John's answer, but John continued talking. “You told me you would be next door, I ran out my house looking for you next door. And that's when I was back here.” John made a vague hand gesture to indicate he had “woke” up.

 

“Well either way, you succeeded and solved the crime. Now we just have to let the Detective Inspector know.”

 

“Very well.” John replied, reaching for a chip.

 

The men finished their food and were in the car on their way to the local police station to inform the D.I. of their findings. When they arrived they were promptly shown to the task room dedicated to solving these murders.

 

While they waited John poured Sherlock and himself a cup of coffee and Sherlock walked the room looking at the various boards the police had set up with leads and information gathered thus far in the case.

 

The Detective Inspector walked in exuberantly. “I heard you have news for a me, a break in the case?”

 

Sherlock sat in a chair next to John, crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap, ever the drama queen. John looked to him, “Uh Sherlock, aren’t you going to walk him through it?”

 

“Oh. Yes that. No.”

 

Both the D.I. and John exclaimed “No?!”

 

Sherlock looking slightly startled at their outburst looked to John, “No. You are John. From the beginning when we got here, to when we left the hospital.”

 

“Um, alright then.” John took the detective from when they first arrived on the scene, and how he noticed all the bodies he examined had died from rapid organ failure, every victim had been in tip top shape but with no signs of foul play. Not to mention he had never heard of any substance being able to induce or cause rapid organ failure at that rate.

 

He went over the killer posing as Dimitri. He admitted to not knowing where his attack fit into the scheme of things.

 

And even though the D.I. was there he went over the chase in the hotel again accumulating in John shooting the suspect.

 

And finally to the chance meeting at the hospital, and John realizing his old mate, Hugh Brown had ties to physiology teaching and research; and that John now found out the research had been discontinued for violation against human rights. And the kicker, Hugh had been favoring the same side that John had shot the killer, and John had noticed he had started to bleed from their collision.

 

The Detective Inspector listened intently and when John had finished asked if he knew where to find his old colleague.

 

John shook his head. “Sadly, I haven’t the foggiest. I didn't keep up with him or anyone from Bart’s after I deployed.”

 

The D.I. stood up and John and Sherlock followed suite. He shook both of their hands. “Thank you gentlemen. Thank you for all your help and give my regards to Detective Inspector Lestrade.”

 

“You’re quite welcome sir, we’re going to hang around until Hugh is apprehended, if that’s okay?”

 

“'Course. I know how to reach you two if we hit any snags.”

 

Sherlock and John headed back to the car. “Where to?” Sherlock asked, caressing the nape of John’s neck.

 

Closing his eyes, John replied, “Mmm, I don’t know Sherlock. I don't really care.”

 

“You have been working so hard John. And have endured quite a bit on this case. I would like to reward you at some point before we return home.”

 

“Sherlock. That is not necessary. I enjoy helping with the cases. You know that. Although, I wouldn’t mind another massage. You are quite good with your hands.”

 

“Am I now? I suppose we should head back to the room then.” Sherlock removed his hand from John’s neck and started the vehicle heading back to the hotel.

 

The men entered the elevator, no one else was in there with them, so Sherlock pulled John to him wrapping his arms around the shorter man's shoulders. “You look absolutely exhausted John. Maybe when we get up to the room you should shower, take your pain medicine, yes I’ve notice you haven't taken it since leaving the hospital, and I will give you a massage as you wish.”

 

John looked up at Sherlock and pursed his lips, wanting a kiss. Sherlock smiled and obliged. It was just a simple kiss, a mere meeting of the lips. When the elevator opened up to their floor they stepped off hand in hand.

 

The men felt completely at ease having just solved the case and washing their hands of the responsibility of bringing in the suspect. Their guard was completely down. That was their first mistake.

 

Opening the door to the room, Sherlock stepped in first, his back slightly against the door, holding it open so John could enter. He was smiling when suddenly a length of rope was looped around his neck. John rushed all the way in, reaching for his gun, it wasn’t on him. Second mistake. In their rush to leave the room and discuss the case John had forgot to grab his gun. _Dammit_.

 

Behind Sherlock stood Hugh Brown. He was holding a gun to Sherlock’s temple as well as the rope around his neck.

 

John let the door swing closed behind him. No need for collateral damage.

 

“I warned you John Watson. I warned you repeatedly to let it go. To just leave. But ever the hero, you couldn’t do that could you?” Hugh sighed. I could have killed you plenty of times. More times than you realize. But I allowed our time at Bart’s to color my better judgement.”

 

John stood with his hands up, not wanting to spook Hugh. “Alright. Let Sherlock go. This is between you and I. I solved the case. I'm the one who wouldn't let go. It’s between you and I.”

 

Hugh smiled at him. “Pretty to think so isn’t it? But if I let Sherlock go he will not stop until he has found me. And if I manage to take him out later, then his brother will look for me next. But, if I take you both out to now. I won't have to worry about it.”

 


	18. The Importance of Being Sherlock Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock are stuck between a rock and a hard place. Who will come to their aid?

“There is just one thing wrong with your plan. If you kill Sherlock, Mycroft _will_ come after you. I am not the determining factor here. You kill me, Sherlock may be upset at first, especially considering I'm his new toy.” Sherlock looked sharply at John. John paid him no mind and kept talking. “But he’ll get over it as soon as a shiny new case falls in his lap. But, the moment you kill him, no one and nothing will keep you safe.”

 

John put his hands down and walked to the table, having a seat. “While you think that over, could you _please_ explain to me how you got the victims to go into rapid organ failure. I could not figure it out no matter what angle I tried from.”

 

Hugh laughed good heartedly. “Oh no you don't. You’re not going to catch me monologuing like a proper villain. But I will tell you it _was_ based on old research.”

 

“You can’t tell me anything? I will need it for my blog. Oh yeah, that’s right, you mean to kill me. There will be no blog.” John did his best to look deflated, looking down at his lap.

 

Sherlock spoke up. “We know you have the place bugged. And -”

 

“You knew the place was bugged and you purposely subjected me to you two getting off?!”

Hugh asked angrily.

 

“Well, we couldn't live our lives around your bloody bug could we?” Sherlock shot back.

 

In a fit of rage Hugh hit Sherlock with the hand holding the gun, the gun clipped Sherlock against his left eye. Sherlock over exaggerated the effect the blow had on him, crying out loudly in pain and staggering, dropping his weight. When Hugh bent to jerk Sherlock straight John knocked hard against the table.

 

John looked up sharply and over to door as in surprise. Hugh looked at him, “Really? Am I supposed to fall for a fake knock? _Dr. Watson_? Remember I am far smarter than most people.”

 

“Which is why I would never think to try and pull that with you Hugh. I wouldn’t insult your intelligence in that way.”

 

Hugh glanced at John again, trying to gauge the sincerity in his statement. He started to walk towards the door, dragging Sherlock with him. He glanced out the rooms peephole. It just so happened that someone had just passed the door, making it appear as if someone had indeed knocked on the door. “They are walking away,” Hugh announced, “A woman.”

 

John watched, knowing he would only get one try. As Hugh turned to walk pass him again John leaped up shoving Sherlock hard to the left silently hoping he didn't hurt him. The shove dislodged Sherlock from Hugh’s grasp, but the rope was still around his neck and he was coughing fitfully. John swung a left hook, connecting with Hugh’s jaw. He followed quickly with an uppercut, blood spraying from his nose with contact. John then grabbed the man by the lapels and head butted him. The gun went off. John paused for a second to try and ascertain if Sherlock had been hurt. He was still coughing, so he guessed not.

 

That moment was all Hugh needed. He backhand John with the gun, reopening the stitches over his eye, blood dripping in momentarily blinding John in that eye. Hugh grabbed John by his coat and kneed him in the ribs knocking all the breath out of him. John swore he heard his ribs crack. But he couldn’t give into the pain. Sherlock’s life depended upon him finishing this.

 

As Hugh went to knee him again in the ribs he grabbed the man's leg and dropped his weight causing both men to tumble to the floor. The gun slid across the floor with impact. John could no longer hear Sherlock coughing, or anything for that matter. There was a roaring in his ears and all he could see was the threat in front of him. John scrambled atop Hugh, again gaining the upper hand. Straddling the weaker man John started landing punches. To Hugh's face to his torso, he didn't care where they landed just so he paid for hurting Sherlock and killing all those people.

 

Blood was everywhere. Hugh's face a cesspit of bloody wounds. But John didn't let up he kept hitting the man, in that moment not caring if he killed him. He vaguely became aware of hands on him. He shrugged them off. And then a voice cut through the haze of anger.

“Capt. Watson! At ease soldier! That is enough!”

 

John looked down at the man beneath him, slightly appalled by the mess he made of the man. He looked at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. They were bloody, the skin of his knuckles were cracked open and bleeding; bruised and swollen. Belatedly he though he may have broken his left hand.

 

He looked up, Sherlock was standing over him at attention, blood dripping down his temple. John looked back down at Hugh, he was breathing but he was unconscious. John scrambled up pulling Sherlock into a tight embrace. Hissing he pulled away, holding his side. He slowly became aware of banging on the door. It sounded as if someone was trying to break it down.

 

Sherlock lead his brave little soldier to a chair sitting him down. And then went to the door opening it. A police officer stumbled and almost fell. There were several officers in the hallway. And behind them stood Mycroft leaning against his umbrella stoically studying his nails. Looking completely disinterested in the whole ordeal. He stepped pass all the officers entering the room taking in the scene. Walking over to John he looked down at the smaller man and whispered, “Well done soldier. My brother has chosen well.” Walking over to Hugh, still lying on the floor he stared down dispassionately. “Sherlock grab John’s smelling salts.”

 

Sherlock took a moment to ponder how Mycroft knew John even had smelling salts. But grabbed the item his brother had requested. Passing it to Mycroft, Sherlock went to stand next to John, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder.

 

Mycroft had one of the police officers handcuff Hugh before running the smelling salts under his nose, successfully reviving the murder. “Welcome back Mr. Brown. I heard you had a death wish. That can be arranged I assure you.” Mycroft glanced at Sherlock briefly and then focused back on Hugh. “As much pleasure as I would get out of ordering an accident for you in prison, I do believe you now understand what happens when you threaten Sherlock Holmes.” Mycroft motioned for them police to take the man away.

 

Hugh said nothing he simply glared at Mycroft as two police officers got him on his feet. Hugh turned to John, “Revenge is a dish best served cold Dr. John Watson. The Ice Cream Man is coming.” The police dragged him out, all the while Hugh was smiling a broken and bloodied smile.

 

“You’ll be needing medical attention John. Again. Sherlock, you as well. I'm sure I can trust you both to get there without further incident.” Mycroft was stepping out of the room when John finally spoke.

 

“When did you realize Sherlock was in trouble?”

 

“The moment you two idiots opened this door.”

 

“And you didn't send any help because?”

 

“You’re all the help my brother needs Dr. Watson. Goodbye brother mine. John.”

 

John stood up slowly. Sherlock gently took John's elbow leading him out the room and down to the car.

 

“Can you see to drive Sherlock?”

 

Sherlock wiped blood from the corner of his eye. “I'm fine love.” Both Sherlock and John paused at Sherlock’s use of an endearment. Neither commented on it.

 

Once in the car John spoke again. “Sherlock, what do you suppose he meant before he was taken out?”

 

“He was just trying to get a rise out of you. It is simply a well known saying.”

 

“Yes, but not the bit about the Ice Cream Man. And the substance that was used to kill those people had to be kept frozen somewhere, somehow. I think he was taunting me. Letting me know there was more of this stuff out there. ”

 

“Well either way  you can't go off hunting down the meaning to this riddle until you have been fixed up yet again.”

 

John sat in silence. He _had_  to do something! He was sure that Hugh had been eluding to something. That perhaps this wasn't as finished as John had hoped.

 

He closed his eyes. Trying to see if he could access his _Mind House_ under the current stressful circumstances. _John imagined himself back at his_ _Mind House, standing outside looking at the entrance. It was getting dark out or light. It was the time of day you couldn't tell if the sun was setting or rising. There was a very ominous feeling all around him._   _He and Sherlock had not gone over how to recall info, objects or places. He could do this. He was able to recall people by categorizing them in groups and putting them in a situation that would best represent a situation that he would have seen them. Now, he wanted to figure out what Hugh could’ve meant about The Ice Cream Man._

 

Sherlock glanced at John. He looked asleep, but his brows were furrowed, he didn't furrow his brows when he slept. John was thinking; no, not just thinking he was trying to visit his _Mind House._ Sherlock wasn't sure if he should try to talk him through the process again or not disturb him and see if he figures it out on his own.

 

_John sat on a couch in his Mind House’s living room. He faced the telly. This was the best he could come up with considering the current situation. He would focus on anything dealing with or that mentions an Ice Cream Man or an Ice Cream Van for that matter._

 

_Using the remote he turned on the telly. The first station showed images from his youth eating ice cream with Harry. He flicked through channels rapidly, stopping randomly. This channel showed him deployed to Afghanistan, one of the guys was saying how hot it was and how they wished an ice cream van would just magically appear. Most of the other soldiers agreed. Again John skipped a few random channels and there it was._

 

 _The day he got jumped. He had grabbed his coffee, computer and papers to go to the pub across the street when he was almost hit by an_ _ice cream van_ _! John looked down at the remote, there was a rewind button, he hit it and then pressed play right before he had stepped out into the street. **Pause!** He could see the tags! He repeated the tag number to himself, over and over, not want to forget it when he 's one up'. Turning off the telly, he got up and walked out the door. _

 

Opening his eyes John was a bit disoriented at first. He looked around. They were no longer moving. In fact, they were parked in the hospital’s lot. Sherlock was looking at him intently.

 

“You found something out didn’t you?”

 

“Yes. I was almost hit by an ice cream van the night I was attacked. I got the tag number.”

 

“You’re amazing.” Sherlock mumbled under his breath.

 

“Excuse me? I didn't catch that.” John replied smirking.

 

“Let's get you inside. Dr. Julian is expecting us.”

 

“Sherrrlock! Did you call him? Issue another threat perhaps?”

 

A sheepish smile tugged at his lips as Sherlock raked his fingers through his hair. “Actually...I did. Well I called. But as it turned out, my call wasn’t needed. Mycroft had already called and threatened the good doctor.”

 

John looked at Sherlock with disbelief and something softer. Affection perhaps? "Unbelievable."

  
“Come on John. Let us not keep the doctor waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite chapter...hope you all like it as well. Please feel free to leave feedback and or kudos. As always, thanks for reading!


	19. It's a Wrap

John found himself once again on the examination table waiting on the results of rush x-rays. He had a feeling this time he wouldn’t be so lucky. His body felt like he had been run over by a freight train. And it was hard to breath again. Not as bad as when he originally got attacked, but far from good.

 

Sherlock wasn’t standing across the room this time either. He stood beside him, holding his hand again, very reminiscent of the day they confessed their feelings, putting everything out on the table. Sherlock was restless with worry, he would never admit it to John, but John could tell.

 

Dr. Julian walked back in the room looking grim. John cursed under his breath, he knew it. “Dr. Watson, how do you manage to get yourself in these situations?”

 

John looked the doctor straight in the eye and said, “It was bloody worth it.” John could feel Sherlock stand a little taller. He smiled.

 

“Well I sure hope you end your current trend. It’s a miracle you were even able to walk in here under your own steam.”

 

Unintentionally, Sherlock gripped John’s hand tighter. “So it’s bad then?”

 

“Well Mr. Holmes, speaking plainly, it could have been so much worse. Dr. Watson is very lucky. His left hand has two hairline fractures, here." The doctor pointed to the locations on the film he brought back in with him. "And he only has one broken rib. The rest are more or less the same. He’ll be fine.”

 

“I know that.” Sherlock stated quickly.

 

He was still squeezing all feeling out of John’s hand, he finally _had_ to say something about it. “Sherlock. My hand.”

 

Sherlock, mortified dropped John’s hand as if it were a live wire. “So sorry John.”

 

“It’s quite alright. Dr. Julian, could we possible move this along, I need to get to the police station.”

 

“Yes, yes of course. I will also be prescribing you medication for the pain. Do you have a preference?”

 

John thought about it. “It doesn’t really hurt, possibly because my adrenaline levels are still elevated. You mind if I wait until a bit later to evaluate how I'm feeling and give you a call with my decision?”

 

“Sure. Now, let's get you fixed up.”

 

An hour later John and Sherlock was on their way back to the police station. Sherlock kept glancing at John, he thought he was being covert, but John noticed. Arriving at their destination, Sherlock turned off the vehicle and ran around to John’s side helping him out. John didn't complain about Sherlock hovering because he knew Sherlock needed to feel like he was helping.

 

Inside the station they were lead to the Detective Inspector’s office. He stood up when they walkedb in. “Have a seat gentleman. I can’t thank you enough for catching our killer. But we are going to have a hard case ahead of us. We have no proof, only heresay.”

 

“That’s not true Detective, my brother piggy-backed on the bug that the killer put in our room, effectively recording the killer's confession. You will have a copy in your possession shortly.”

 

John glanced quickly at Sherlock. _Oh god. Had Mycroft heard them as well?_ He would have to ask Sherlock later. Clearing his throat he added, “Also Detective, that sorta brings us to why we’re here now. Hugh said something to me before he was taken into custody that got me thinking. Where is his lab or stash? It had to be kept frozen when given to the victims. And that was when I remembered, I was almost run down by an ice cream van the morning of the day I was attacked. I got the tag number. If we find the van, I have a feeling we will find his stash, and that will also be more than enough evidence to put him away. Not to mention no risk of it falling into the wrong hands or accidently being consumed.”

 

The D.I. looked both excited and stricken by what John said. He wrote down the tag number and had his sergeant run the number. While they waited the detective suggested they go back home to London. “You two have done enough. Let us finish this. Even if there is nothing found on this van, we will keep looking. It’s not your problem.”

 

John and Sherlock just stared at the detective.

 

“Very well then. Is there anything I can get you?”

 

“A coffee black, two sugars and one black no sugar.” Sherlock requested. The detective went off to grab their coffee.

 

As soon as the door closed Sherlock turned to John and pressed his lips against his, softly and totally catching John off guard. “Mmm...Sherlock, what was that for?” John questioned when they pulled apart.

 

“I was frightened John. I thought he was going to kill you right in front of me. But thank goodness he was smart. All the smart ones secretly want to be caught.” He was rubbing his thumb lightly across John’s knuckles. “And then when you were fighting, I know you are trained and capable of taking care of yourself, but you were already hurt, twice over. And I was helpless to help in any way. All I did was infuriate him further.”

 

“Yes, you tend to do that.” John said smiling.

 

Sherlock averted his eyes as he posed his next question. “When you were talking to Hugh, and you said- you said I may be upset at first, but then I would get over it, is that how you really feel? Like you are just some child's play toy and I could dismiss your presence in my life so easily?”

 

With great effort John turned around in the chair so he could face Sherlock. “No you idiot. I was trying to get Hugh to leave you out of it, by appealing to his sense of self preservation.”

 

“I don’t understand. How would down playing your importance to me appeal to his sense of self preservation and in turn save my life?”

 

John stared at Sherlock as if he had grown two heads. “Seriously Sherlock? By telling Hugh that I'm expendable without repercussions to himself, would in turn save your life. If he thought he could kill me without you retaliating, you would've been safe.”

 

Sherlock froze, blinking his eyes rapidly several times. _John was trying to sacrifice himself._ Sherlock was horrified _._

 

The D.I. walked in with their coffee successfully aborting a particularly tense moment. “Black?” John held up his hand. Passing the men their coffee, he informed them that they got a hit on the tags and the owner of the ice cream van was being brought in as well as the van being confiscated.

 

The man that owned the ice cream van was named Leopold Stephenson. He told them that a man, fitting Hugh’s description had offered him £3,000 pounds, cash money, to borrow his ice cream van for a month. And since it was way more than he brought in with the truck in a month's time anyways, he jumped on it.

 

He further told them the man’s only stipulation was he couldn’t tell anyone and the man would be allowed to take the truck as he pleased. Leopold was asked if he had inquired of the man about his use of the truck. He said that he had indeed, and the man told him it was to fulfill a lifetime dream of being an ice cream van owner. Leopold explained further that the man had supplied his own ice cream and that was what the van was stocked with now. The D.I. informed Leopold that they would be confiscating all of the ice cream on the van and searching his van for anything that could be used in their case.

 

Leopold stated he understood and signed a consent form. They allowed him to leave, informing him that they would be in touch and letting him know he maybe called upon to testify.

 

“Well Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, it looks like we have officially wrapped this case. You two may now return home and rest. Thank you again for all your help and sacrifice.” The D.I. shook both John and Sherlock's hand before they exited his office.

 

“You hear that John, the case is over and we can go home. Let’s go pack up our stuff and plan to leave in the morning. I want to take you out to eat tonight.”

 

John smiled up at Sherlock. “You do realize you don't have to feed me when you think I’ve done a good job. It makes me feel rather like a puppy and you’re giving me a bloody treat.”

 

Sherlock held the door open and helped John into the vehicle. Crossing over to climb behind the wheel, Sherlock said, “John you are not a puppy. And I am not taking you out to eat to reward you for a job well down, although, you do deserve an award. I am taking you out to show you off.”

 

John beamed at Sherlock. “Kiss me you idiot.” Sherlock leaned over smiling against John’s lips before kissing him chastly.

 

They arrived back to the hotel, going directly up to there room, John leaning a little heavier on Sherlock than was called for. It made Sherlock feel useful, so John didn’t mind. He even allowed Sherlock to take his gun out it’s holster, with the intent to sweep the room for threats. When they opened the door however, they noticed right off something was wrong. All of there stuff was gone.

 

“Maybe Mycroft…” John started to say but trailed off when he saw an envelope sitting on the table. Crossing over to it he picked it up, the front of the envelope was addressed to Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson. Sherlock now stood next to him reading over his shoulder. John opened the envelope and pulled out the single piece of paper. It was a very short note printed out on the Hotel’s stationary.

 

**_Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson,_ **

 

**_Thank you sincerely for closing this case; by doing so, you have effectively cleared the hotel’s name of all wrong doings._ **

 

**_We have moved all of your belongings upstairs to our Presidental Suite, we hope that you find it to your liking. Anything you need please call the front desk and it will be provided._ **

 

**_Sincerely,_ **

**_Mr. James Carmichael, III_ **

 

There were two hotel room keys sitting on the table, they must have been hidden under the envelope.

 

“Shall we?”

 

Sherlock and John walked back to the elevator,  pressing the top floor for the Presidential Suite. The elevator opened shortly after allowing them to exit. But Sherlock blocked John from exiting until he got a good glance around and he was sure there was no visible threats.

 

John pulled out one of the room keys swiping it to gain entrance. Again Sherlock took out John’s gun. Walking in the room first, instructing John to wait outside. It was a big room. And the view was spectacular. John walked in the room when Sherlock cleared it.

 

There was another envelope on the table. Opening this one, there was another single letter on hotel stationary. Pulling the note out he noticed a small piece of paper floted to the floor. Sherlock picked it up while John read the second note.

 

**_Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson,_ **

 

**_I sincerely hope you find this room to your liking. You may stay as long as you like. All of your belongings are situated and clean. I had a laundry service handle that while you were out._ **

 

**_I would like to extend an invitation to you two, that no matter what city you are in, if one our hotel’s are there, you’ll have a place to stay. Free of charge._ **

 

**_And lastly; I have also included a check. I know it isn't much, especially considering you two almost lost your lives, but please accept it as a token of my esteemed gratitude. Thank you again gentlemen._ **

 

**_Sincerely,_ **

 

**_Mr. James Carmichael, III_ **

 

Sherlock passed the check to John so he could see and also, John was better at keeping these sort of things organized.

 

John’s mouth dropped in shock as he looked down at the check. “Sherlock...did you see the amount of this check?” Sherlock nodded absently, looking around the room.

 

“£60,000.” John said in amazement.

 

“Yes. Apparently, £5,000 per victim.”

 

John put both letters away along with the check. He had found his bag inside one of the wardrobes. Pulling out a change of clothe’s, laying them on the single king sized bed. “I'm going to have a quick shower Sherlock and then I would like to take a nap before dinner.”

 

“Very well.”

 

John went and took his shower while Sherlock secretly made reservations for dinner and tended to another surprise for John.

 

An hour and fifteen minutes later, both men were freshly showered and relaxing in companionable silence. Sherlock lay on his back with John in his arms. They had roughly 3 hours before they needed to be up so they could make their reservation. Sherlock smiled. He couldn’t wait to see John’s face later.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :Tears:
> 
> It's almost over.


	20. Turmoil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tur·moil: ˈtərˌmoil  
> noun  
> a state of great disturbance, confusion, or uncertainty.

Sherlock didn't sleep. He lay there with John in his arms. There had been too many close calls lately. It had caused Sherlock to face some hard truths. He really didn’t like to be alone. But not just anyone would do. He enjoyed the company of Molly and Mrs. Hudson in small doses. Molly was just, she expected too much from him. And Mrs. Hudson, God bless her soul, she thought she was his bloody mother or nursemaid.

 

John. John was his fulcrum. He kept him right. And as contented as someone like him could be. John gave and gave of himself. Always hoping for the best, but never making any demands. Sure he lost his temper at times, but Sherlock _had_ to start being honest with himself, John rarely ever lost his temper needlessly or without being provoked. And Sherlock usually pushed him to it. Sometimes on purpose, most times in his ignorance of human emotions. But he was quickly becoming acquainted with a vast range of emotions. And that was just this past two weeks alone.

 

Sherlock unconsciously stroked up and down John’s back. He placed a chaste kiss against John’s forehead and stealthily extracted himself from the sleeping man. Before leaving the bedroom, Sherlock looked back at John and mouthed the words he could not yet say out loud. _“I love you John Watson.”_

 

Sherlock entered the living room area of the hotel suite. Walking over to the door and opening before the man on the other side could knock. The hotel employee look startled. He had two garment bags in his hands. He passed them to Sherlock, and in return Sherlock passed him a tip. Inclining his head to the young man Sherlock closed the door quietly. He placed the garment bags in the bathroom’s sitting area. Looking at the time on his mobile he realized he had still quite a bit of time before he had to sneak off. He decided to sit in the living area and beat this dead horse some more.

He knew he cared for John. John _was_ his only friend. And he offset his own personality so well, Sherlock would like to think he did the same for John.

 

John deserved someone who could give him the love and affection he deserved. The devotion that most people seemed to hold for the significant other in their life. Sherlock was no longer denying how very important John was to him. But he was afraid he needed to tell John he didn’t think he could do a relationship with him; or anybody for that matter. Emotions were just so hard. Sherlock wasn't built for this, he was constantly a mess now, emotionally. And had been since John had gotten attacked.

 

He would give John the amazing night he deserved, and then he would tell him.

 

***

 

Sherlock entered the living room area. He wrote his note to John leaving it on the same table in which they had found the letter from Mr. Carmichael. He checked his pockets, making sure he had everything he needed and left the room.

 

Twenty minutes later the phone inside the hotel suite rang. John jumped up. “I’m awake!” he mumbled, startled by the abrupt noise. “Sherlock?” John looked around for Sherlock, he wasn't in the room. John reached for the phone on the nightstand. “Hello?” he said voice groggy.

 

“Hello Dr. Watson, this is the front desk calling with the requested wake up call.”

 

“Um, okay. Thanks.” Holding his side John got up to first use the loo and then search for Sherlock. John was rubbing his eyes as he entered the bathroom, so he didn't see the garment bag hanging up in the sitting area until after he had washed his hands and was heading back out. He paused, _curious_ he thought. He went into the living room area searching for Sherlock. John’s eyes were immediately drawn to the note on the table. A strong sense of foreboding washed through him; so strong he momentarily felt light headed and needed to steady himself against the wall.

 

John walked slowly towards the table, partly out of pain and partly from apprehension. Picking up the note, John's hands shook violently, taking a deep breath he opened the note.

 

**John,**

**I have made reservations for us at 8p.m. sharp. Please be ready. I have also left something for you to wear in the bathroom; I would be honored if you wore it. Please meet me downstairs at 7:30p.m.**

 

**-SH**

 

Okay, so the letter wasn’t bad. But it still left John feeling downhearted. The tone of the note felt very formal and a lot like the old Sherlock, before he opened up a bit and let John in. Trying to brush it off he went back to the bathroom to begin getting ready. He had an hour until he needed to be downstairs.

 

John had showered and was standing in front of the mirror, trying to shake this feeling, like a cloud hanging over him with an impending storm. He picked up the brush sitting on the counter and decided to try and look his best for once.

 

He brushed and styled his hair. He even gave himself a fresh shave. Opening the garment bag he was glad he decided to take care with his appearance. Inside was a black tailored suit with a white button up dress shirt. There was also a matching white handkerchief, and the finishing touch? A single blood red rose.

 

John dressed with care, not wanting even a single detail amiss. He still hadn’t been able to shake the bad feeling, but hopefully when he got down to Sherlock his mood would improve. He looked at his mobile phone. Ten minutes. He couldn’t stand in this room another minute. He was antsy. He wanted to tackle this night head on and the only way to do that is by going downstairs and being with the one person he loved most in this life.

 

Picking up the extra room key off the table, his eyes strayed to the note again. Cursing under his breath John stood up straight at attention. It always seemed to help him compose himself. Inhaling deeply John did an about face and marched to the door and out the room.

 

In the elevator John snapped a picture of himself on a whim. He hadn't been smiling. He decided to take another. He wanted one of him smiling, but he couldn’t seem to muster one up. He needed happy thoughts, that should do the trick. He thought of falling asleep in Sherlock’s arms earlier this evening, that thought was successful in producing a sad smile. He tried again. This time he thought about how Sherlock threatened the doctor and how he sassed Hugh while having a gun to his head.

 

Belatedly, John realized he was crying. Silent tears were marching down his face. He looked at the elevator panel. 5th floor. He reached out and pressed the 3rd floor button so that the elevator would stop. It seemed to take forever but when it finally dinged John flew off the elevator almost bumping into an elderly lady. “Apologies.” He mumbled. John walked quickly around the corner and out of sight of the elevator. Looking down at his mobile he saw that he had five minutes to get himself together and get his arse outside, front and center.

 

Standing at attention again and taking deep breaths, John tried clearing his mind, but that just made him think about the physical pain he was in. There just was no winning tonight he saw. 3 minutes. John walked back over to the elevator, pressing the call button, he waited. Once inside he used his hands to fan his eyes to try and take away the redness he knew would be present. If Sherlock asked maybe he could convince him it was from sleep or shampoo in his eye, something.

2nd floor.

 

The Lobby.

 

Ding.

 

John straightened his suit jacket and stepped out of the elevator and towards the front door. When he reached the front door the clock in the Lobby chimed to announce the half hour. The doormen opened the doors for him and he stepped out into the night. John froze in his tracks. Sherlock stood at the curb waiting. He was breathtaking in all black. Black suit jacket and trousers. Black button up shirt and black handkerchief.

 

Sherlock felt his mouth part and go dry as John exited the building. He’d been right to assume John would look amazing in a black and white semi formal ensemble. John had added the rose to his breast pocket. It was the perfect touch. How could he possibly walk away from this man? As John got closer, Sherlock saw clear signs that he had been crying. He frowned. What could have him emotional enough to cry? Surely not the suit and rose. Maybe he was just in terrible pain.

 

John would treasure the look on Sherlock’s face as he stepped out the door for as long as he lived. Sherlock’s mouth actually dropped a bit. No one to his knowledge has ever had that effect on him. Not even she who shall not be named. And then, Sherlock’s expression changed. He now appeared sad. This had John’s internal alarms going off like crazy. He had reached Sherlock. Sherlock was frowning. “Evening Sherlock.” he smiled as warmly as he could.

 

“Hello John. You look amazing.” Sherlock was alarmed to hear that his voice sounded breathless.

“I do clean up rather nicely if I do say so myself. But thank you. And you,” John had to pause to compose himself. “You look absolutely mesmerizing.”

 

Sherlock blushed at the compliment, ducking his head he opened the door of the stretch limo he had acquired for the evening. John slid inside groaning softly. Sherlock slid in behind him sitting opposite John, facing him.

 

“This...this is nice. Thank you Sherlock. And also for the suit and flower. It was a nice touch.” Sherlock turned away, breaking eye contact again.

 

“So, uh, where are we going?”

 

Sherlock looked back at John, you’ll soon find out. How are you feeling? You’re in pain.”

 

“Yes. But that tends to be the outcome of being beaten twice within a week.”

 

“Are you alright John?”

 

“Yes. Why do you ask?

 

“No reason. How did you sleep?”

 

“Well, thank you.”

 

The men sat in silence as the driver took them to the restaurant.

 

The reticence in the car was awful. John couldn't take it anymore. He got out of his seat and sat next to Sherlock. Sherlock turned from the window to look at John. He didn't say anything just raised an eyebrow at him questioning.

 

“I uh, didn't get the greeting I was hoping for when I met you outside.” John confessed quietly.

 

Sherlock’s eyebrows dipped low, furrowing. “Good...evening John?”

 

“No you idiot.” John smiled affectionately at Sherlock and then leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. Allowing himself to linger a moment longer than necessary. “Mmm, that's better.” John lifted up Sherlock’s arm and draped it over his shoulders. He was determined to try and have a good night. He laid his head against Sherlock's shoulder and closed his eyes. He needed to get his emotions under control. He would ruin the night if he continued to be so moody.

 

Sherlock looked down at John. “I’m doing this all wrong aren’t I?”

 

“Yes. But it's totally you. So it’s fine.” There was silence from Sherlock. John opened his eyes and found himself staring up into Sherlock’s unblinking gaze. Sitting up John shook Sherlock lightly. When Sherlock focused on him he began, “To be honest Sherlock, you actually did very well with the clothes, flower, limo and I'm absolutely certain whereever we are going for dinner will be perfect. But you are ignoring me. What’s the point of having dinner if we aren’t going to speak to one another? Engage with one another?”

 

“You’re right John. As usual you have a much better grasp of people and their social ways. I apologize for my, faux pas. Forgive me?”

 

John looked Sherlock in the eyes, searching. He couldn’t tie down the emotion he saw swimming in this brilliant man’s eyes. “Of course I forgive you.”  

 

Sherlock took John’s right hand and brought it to his mouth, brushing a feather light kiss across the knuckles. He placed his arm back around John and pulled him close.

  



	21. Sherly

John reclined in Sherlock’s arms, his eyes were closed but he was not sleep. He was trying his best to let go and just be. John could feel Sherlock’s eyes on him as he lay there; and he knew that Sherlock was aware that he wasn't sleep. “John we are here. I hope you're feeling better.”

 

Sitting up and stretching John looked at Sherlock and smiled. Sherlock the ever stoic statue, simply stared back. Turning to look out the window John saw they were back at _Clos Maggiore._ John smiled to himself. Turning to Sherlock he asked, “So, is it a date this time?”

 

“Of course John. You deserve the best.” John kissed him quickly on the cheek as the driver opened their door.

 

Sherlock moved past John, stepping out of the car first; turning he offered his hand to John to help him out. Sherlock noticed the flicker of pain run across John’s face. He didn’t comment on it, just made a mental note to make sure he didn't hurt him. Sherlock tucked John's hand into the crook of his elbow and lead John to the door. When they walked in the restaurant, it had a different atmosphere. The lighting was even more subtle than before. There were candelabra’s lining the walkway leading to the Maître d’. But Sherlock lead him upstairs to the rooftop dining instead. There were flower petals scattered artfully along the stairs as they ascended them. Coming out at the top John was surprised to see the top was completely empty of other patrons, making for a very intimate dining experience.

 

Sherlock inclined his head to the bartender as they made their way over to the only table made up. Sherlock pulled out the seat for John, pushing it in behind him and then walked around to sit across from him. There was a bottle of wine sitting on the table chilling, Sherlock took the bottle, opening it and started to pour their drinks.

 

John looked around. Mouth slightly agape. This place was just beautiful. And with the added touches he knew to be Sherlock's idea, the place was ethereal. John looked across the table at Sherlock, “Thank you for bringing me back here Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock glanced up quickly from his wine pouring. “You’ve been thanking me a lot John, maybe you should just save all your thanks and thank me later tonight.” Realizing how that sounded Sherlock turned beet red.

 

“All right, I _could_ do that.”

 

Their appetizers arrived. Sherlock wasn’t talking, and he was eating very little. John took in the scene around them to try and ease the tension. The bartender approached their table.

 

“Good evening Dr. Watson, so nice to see you again. I hate to interrupt, but Mr. Holmes you have a phone call at the bar. Enjoy your evening Dr. Watson.”

 

Sherlock got up followed the bartender over to the bar. “I don’t really have a call do I?”

 

The bartender looked over Sherlock’s shoulder at John. John’s back was to them so there was no threat of John seeing them conversing. “Nope. Sherlock, I was tickled pink when you contacted the restaurant earlier wanting to set this all in motion. But you are _not_ having a good time and your mood is bleeding over to John. Bless his heart he is trying, but he sees something is wrong." Sherlock looked away. "What’s the problem? Is there something I can do to stop you from acting as if you are on a blind date with someone you find _totally_ appalling?”

 

Sherlock sighed heavily looking back at John and then back to the bartender.

 

“Oooh Shit. That bad?”

 

“Liam, I appreciate all your help with tonight. But I don’t think this is something you or anybody else can help me with.”

 

“Uh un. I _know_ John is over the moon about having this chance with you. And you, you  _love_ him! What are you allowing to scare you away? I _know_ it’s not that man over there.” Liam continued to scold Sherlock while pointing at John.

 

“That’s just it. He deserves so much more than me. I'm not easy to live with.”

 

“Yet he has already been doing it.”

 

“I am arsehole from the 9th circle of Hell. I speak without thinking. I’m arrogant. I’m-”

 

Liam cut him off. “Stop. Stop. Stop. Did you just start being like this in the past, let's say month?”

 

“No.”

 

“No. So John has  already been subjected to your worst and he still loves you in spite of it. The least you could do is get your head out your arse and give him your best.”

 

Sherlock looked at Liam long and hard. “Thank you Liam. It appears I may have needed that...talking to.”

 

Sherlock returned to John in slightly better spirits. Sitting back down he noticed John hadn’t touched anymore of his food.

 

“I was waiting for you.” John said answering Sherlock's unspoken question.

 

Sherlock reached across the table taking John’s hand. He couldn’t find the words so he said nothing just stared at John, hoping his heart was in his eyes. And to think, moments ago he had been willing to let this all go. He really was an idiot.

 

Releasing John’s hand Sherlock picked up his fork and started eating.

 

“Everything okay?” John asked.

 

“Yes. Everything is better.”

 

As the men finished their appetizers their entrees were brought out.

 

“John, I’m sorry.”

 

John looked at Sherlock smirking. He couldn’t resist. “You’ve been apologizing quite a bit tonight Sherlock; perhaps you should save all your apologies for later and show me how sorry you really are.” John winked at Sherlock and was awarded with the first genuine smile from Sherlock all night.

 

They began eating again, John closed his eyes savoring the taste of the food. Unbeknownst to him, he’d let out a small moan when he had tasted the food. Opening his eyes, Sherlock was staring at him in the most peculiar way. Sherlock stood, crossing over to John looking down at him. John turned slightly in his chair to enable him to look up at Sherlock.

 

“Um, Sherlock-” John began but was silenced by Sherlock bending down, burying a hand in John’s short hair and kissing him senseless. Sherlock rolled his tongue around John’s in an intimate dance, tasting their dinner and wine. Pulling back on the intensity, Sherlock ran his tongue along John’s bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth as he pulled away.

 

Sherlock rested his head against John’s catching his breath. Straightening and smoothing his clothes out Sherlock returned to his seat. Once again picking up his fork.

 

Suddenly a high pitch noise rent the air. Both men looked around slightly startled. Not seeing anything to be concerned with they turned back to each other. Sherlock had started to eat and John stared openly at him. There was a noticeable difference in Sherlock now. John wasn’t complaining, but he would love to know who was on the other end of that call he had took. He needed to thank them. Turning back to his food he began to eat as well.

 

“Do you realize you're doing that aloud” Sherlock asked several minutes later.

 

“Doing what exactly?”

 

“You moan, every time you taste that chicken.”

 

John normally not prone to embarrassment, turned red. “No. No I wasn't aware. Sorry about that. That’s rather embarrassing.”

 

“John.” John looked up at Sherlock, “Don’t be sorry. I rather enjoyed hearing it.” John picked up his wine and was taking a healthy sip when Sherlock continued, talking in a very low tone, “I wonder if I can make you duplicate that _same_ sound.” John started choking on his wine. He sat the glass down so not to spill any.

 

John glanced up at Sherlock. _Good heavens, where did that come from._

 

John chose to ignore the statement.

 

The men finished the rest of their meal in silence, stealing covert looks at one another.

 

When their table had been cleared. Sherlock leaned back in his seat. “John, would you fancy working some of those calories off?”

 

John froze in place, “Excuse me?” Light violin music filled the air. Sherlock stood up, extended his hand towards John.

 

“Would you like to dance with me?”

 

John placed his hand into Sherlock’s relishing the feel of his long cool fingers wrapping around his.

 

They heard stomping and clapping behind them. Sherlock looked over John’s head. He smirked and shook his head almost imperceptibly. Leading John out to a cleared area of the restaurant, he rested one hand on John’s hip and the other continued to hold his hand.  

 

John rested his free hand on Sherlock’s chest and he allowed Sherlock to lead him around the floor. After several perfect minutes, John asked Sherlock if it was him that was playing.

 

“Yes. I wrote it for you.”

 

John was so shocked he stopped moving altogether, forcing Sherlock to do so as well. “Tha- I’ll tell you later.”

 

John’s mobile rang. Looking down he saw that it was Dr. Julian. He never did call him back. “It’s Dr. Julian, I need to take this real quick. Sorry.”

 

Sherlock walked away from John and towards the bar. “What on earth was that?” he asked Liam once he reached the bar.

 

“What? The clapping and stomping?” Sherlock nodded. “That was just me fangirling.”

 

“Fangirling? I repeat, what on earth is that?”

 

“It’s when you are so happy or ecstatic or whatever that you can’t physically contain it. You just have to let it out. I admit it’s usually reserved for famous people, famous relationships, fandoms and so forth.”

 

“Mmm, and you were fangirling why?”

 

“Well initially it was because of the way you took charge and kissed the bejesus outta John. And the-”

 

“Wait! That high pitch whatever it was, that was you?”

 

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

 

“It was _very_ high pitched.”

 

“Honey, I am as flamboyant as they come. Outside of work of course.”

 

Sherlock just watched Liam. Then he smiled.

 

“Incoming.” Liam said in a sing-song voice.

 

“Dr. Watson, how are you enjoying your night?”

 

John sat down, looking at Sherlock he answered Liam. “Very much so.”

 

Sherlock cleared his throat. “John this is Liam, Liam this is John. It’s about time you two were formally introduced.

 

“Pleasure.” John reached out and shook Liam's hand.

 

“Likewise sir. I’m really glad to see you two back here again and under _different_ circumstances as I suggested last time.”

 

“Thank you, so am I. This place is absolutely wonderful. And the company is good.”

 

Liam leaned forward and in a stage whisper he said to Sherlock, “I like him Sherlock, I think he’s a keeper.” He winked at John standing back up.

 

“Liam here helped me set this all up. I’m afraid I was a bit out of my depth.”

 

“Oh really? Well then I owe you another thank you.”

 

“It was my pleasure, really. I was practically salivating to help. Besides, Sherly here did all the heavy lifting. He told me what he wanted and I made it happen.”

 

John looked at Sherlock grinning, “Sherly?” Sherlock shrugged.

 

“Yeah, why not. You have been dubbed. I dub thee, Sherly of London.”

 

John and Liam laughed good naturedly.

 

“Well boys, now that you have a friend on the inside you can come back and visit me anytime. _Any-_ time.”

 

Sherlock inclined his head and John thanked him yet again.

 

“All right. Enough of me yapping, you have a schedule to keep. Move along.”

 

Sherlock stood up pulling John with him back to the dance floor and tightly against him. “Let me know if I hurt you.”

 

A slow beautiful melody started up. Sherlock started to sway with John in his arms, turning in small tight circles on the floor. John closed his eyes, listening to the melody and words to the song. It was Etta James’ ‘At Last’. John gave into temptation and laid his head against Sherlock’s chest, hearing his heartbeat a rapid staccato.

 

It was very romantic. The whole date was. And that didn’t seem anything like Sherlock. But from what John could gather, Sherlock has never had any relationships. So maybe he was only doing what he thought was expected, it was nice, but not necessary.

 

The song ended and Sherlock stopped dancing. He held John for a moment longer. Letting go of John, he saw Liam right behind John, silently 'fangirling’. He smirked. It was kind of nice to have his own little cheer squad. “Liam.”

 

“Mr. Holmes I’m sorry to intrude, but your driver has arrived.”

 

“What happened to ‘Sherly’?” John asked, voice full of humor.

 

“Well Dr. Watson, we were having a moment earlier, the 3 of us. But while I'm at work I try to maintain an air of professionalism.”

 

“I don’t think I like the professional Liam.” Sherlock pouted.

 

“Oh stop! Pouting like that I bet you always get your way. Come’on give me a hug so you can be out.” When Sherlock went to give the other man a typical one armed man hug, Liam pulled him into a bear hug and whispered in his ear, “Your best.” Letting Sherlock go, he turned to John. “Your turn hot hot stuff.” John gave Liam a friendly hug. Liam whispered to him as well, "You’re a fighter, fight for him.” Liam smiled warmly at the men as they walked away.

 

Sherlock took John’s arm in his and escorted him downstairs and out to the waiting limo.


	22. Nightmares to Dreams Come True

Back in the limo Sherlock pulled John into his arms, reclining back across the seat. Lifting his head he kissed John softly, running the tip of his tongue across John’s lips, tracing them. Sighing quietly John flicked his tongue out against Sherlock's, and proceeded to suck on Sherlock’s protruding tongue.

 

Sherlock moaned into John’s mouth, the sound sending shockwaves straight down John’s spine. John pressed more insistently against Sherlock, slipping his tongue in his mouth, rolling his tongue around Sherlock's he carded his fingers through his curly hair, fingers stroking along his sensitive scalp. John pulled up, halting their kiss. He looked down into Sherlock’s blue eyes, they were fully dilated. Lowering his mouth again to Sherlock’s, John nipped his bottom lip and then ran over it with his tongue and repeated the process.

 

Sherlock had a hand resting at the small of John’s back, pressing him more firmly to him. Angling his chin up he bit John’s lip back and then sucked it into his mouth. John let loose a low pitched groan. Sherlock released John’s lips to kiss along his jaw nibbling lightly here and there. When he got to John’s neck he ran the tip of his tongue up his throat, closing his mouth over the frantic pulse, biting down gently at first and then more persistently. John’s body arched up off of him with the action. Sherlock rucked John’s jacket up pulling his dress shirt out of his trousers. Thrusting his hands beneath the shirt he ran his fingers down John’s back, his blunt nails leaving wide red streaks on his skin. John gasped out, jerking in Sherlock's arms. “John.” Sherlock rasped against his neck. “I’m so, very sorry.” He placed open mouth kisses against John’s throat, whispering sorry with each press of his lips.

 

John was moaning wantonly, enjoying the feel of Sherlock’s hands on his body, roaming. He heard Sherlock’s voice hitch on a ‘sorry’; pulling away abruptly, he was alarmed to see tears running down Sherlock’s face. “Sherlock, are you okay? What’s wrong?” Sherlock didn’t answer, he simply wrapped his arms around John crushing him to his chest. John didn’t say anything about the pain Sherlock’s embrace was causing him. Something was wrong and he obviously needed the affection. He ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair some more. Humming softly, soothingly.

 

After a while Sherlock's grip loosened. “Talk to me Sherlock, what’s wrong?” John sat up, letting go of Sherlock and moving off of his lap. Sherlock followed suit and sat up as well.

 

He looked John in the eyes, “I’m just a bloody idiot. I have to say sorry yet again, for ruining your night. I wanted it to be perfect, and yet I have managed to fumble my attempts at this.” John took Sherlock’s hand in his. “Sherlock, be honest with me please. You were going to call us off after tonight weren’t you? That’s why you wanted to make tonight so special.” John couldn’t keep the hint of anger and sadness from his voice, conflicting emotions, yet Sherlock had a way of bringing them out of him. “But, whoever you spoke to on the phone changed your mind, at least I hope they did.”

 

Sherlock sighed, running his hand through his hair roughly he answered, “Yes. And no to your questions. There was no phone call so there was no one on the phone to change my mind. It was Liam who called me out on my idiocy. And yes, I had every intention of telling you tomorrow that I didn’t think I was cut out for a relationship with you. Or anyone, because if not you, there isn’t anyone else for me. I felt, no, feel like I already bring so many negative aspects to your life. I’m not the most agreeable person and I have no clue what I’m doing when it comes to people and emotions and all of that. It confuses me.

Just like my nightmares, my feelings for you were so repressed they were playing out negatively in my dreams. And it affected you in our waking hours. I interrupted your sleep every night we’ve been here, I gave you a hard time about helping me through the aftereffects. I am very sorry John. I-”

 

John held up his free hand, his jaw was clenched tight and a vein was throbbing at his temple. “Don’t you _dare_ apologize to me for your nightmares. If it were not for your bloody nightmares I wouldn’t have realized the extent of my feelings for you. And you would never have admitted yours to me either. We would still be stuck in our very platonic friendship.

Yes you’re a dick, and an all around arsehole. You speak without thinking and you just don’t get people. But, you get _me_ for the most part. You may not understand the reasoning behind it, but you can read me like a grade school book. You may not know how relationships are done, or what is expected, but that’s fine. We can do this together. Learn the romantic side of one another together. Look what you did for me tonight. You’re capable of showing you love me. Just like _you_ have been the one that has initiated any kind of intimate contact between the two of us. You simply act, and not over think anything. That is how you live your life Sherlock you are spontaneous. I am a contemplative person. I’m considerate, I consider how you may react before I will attempt something.

But I’m done with that. This is our relationship. There is no right or wrong way to do it, so long as we are both happy.” John was staring intently at Sherlock to make sure he was getting through to him. “In spite of all the unfortunate things that happened on this case, it has brought about some good. I love you Sherlock Holmes. You have given me the chance to live out a dream. To love _and_ be loved by someone who gets me; to be in a relationship where we have _each_ other's best interest in mind. A relationship built on friendship and trust.

So thank you for being repressed and having nightmares about losing me; because your nightmares, were the catalyst of my dreams coming true.”

 

Sherlock sat there stunned. He couldn’t speak. John loved him. And not the strictly you’re my best friend we have loads of fun together love either. He loved him. He wanted this. Liam was right. John loved him in spite of his shortcomings and because of them as well. Letting go of John’s hand, he rested his hands on either side of his face, looking in his eyes he leaned in to kiss him, stopping before their lips actually met. He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of John’s breath gently ghosting over his lips. The way his breath picked up in anticipation. He brushed his lips lightly over John’s. Once, twice, on the third time John pressed into Sherlock, bringing their lips together firmly in a very chaste, but emotionally charged kiss.

 

The car had stopped, reluctantly Sherlock pulled away from John, staring at his lips. “I enjoy kissing you John.”

 

“Good, cause I plan on us doing a lot of that.” He looked out of the window. They were back at the hotel. The driver opened the door for them.

 

Sherlock gave John a once over. “Your clothes are all disheveled, people will think we had sex back here.”

 

“Let them.” Was John’s simple reply. He did attempt to straighten his shirt and jacket before climbing out behind Sherlock, people could think what they wanted, but he had no intentions of flashing them any skin.

 

Back upstairs John was in the bedroom and had begun to disrobe, when there was a knock at the door. Sherlock was in the sitting area so he answered.

 

“John.” Sherlock called him out. John entered the living room shirtless, Sherlock’s mouth went dry. Looking John over he noticed new bruises. He’d question him about it later.

 

John noticed the hot look that Sherlock was giving him, it made him feel special; that look was reserved for him, and him alone. “You needed something” he asked. Someone cleared their throat. John swung around and saw Dr. Julian standing by the door. _Goodness he was so focused on the way Sherlock was looking at him he hadn’t even noticed anyone was in the room._ “Hello Dr. Julian, uh, what are you doing here?”

 

“I know this wasn’t our agreement, but I also know you had to be in pain, you didn’t take any medicine at the hospital earlier and you have still been out on your feet. So I brought a dose to you.”

 

John looked quickly at Sherlock. Sherlock had his hands in his pocket and was rocking slightly back on his heels.

 

Dr. Julian laughed. “He didn’t call me. Neither did his scary big brother. I came on my own accord. I find you quite admirable Dr. Watson, and it was the least I could do.”

 

Sherlock excused himself and went into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

 

Dr. Julian sat his medical case on the table, motioning for John to have a seat. “You’ll be happy to know I talked with an associate of mine who is willing to take you on for your medication needs back in London. I explained to him that you did not want a prescription and would prefer to come into the office once a day for a shot of your pain medicine. He questioned me about it because it is a bit unorthodox, and most people prefer to have the ease and availability of pills at their disposal. You don’t have to explain to me your reasons behind this. I understand. And I won’t mention it to anyone.”

 

John looked up at the doctor, “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

 

“You’re welcome. The doctor’s name is Thames Woolbright. He will contact you tomorrow morning. Have you decided if you’re still going home tomorrow?”

 

“I hope so. I need to discuss it with Sherlock, but I don’t see why we wouldn’t be.”

 

“Well I advise against it. I really can’t stress enough that you need to rest. Take another day. Don’t go anywhere, don’t do anything. Just rest, give your body a break.” The doctor placed a gauze square over the spot he had just administered John’s medication. He packed up his stuff. “Think about it John. Wish Sherlock a goodnight for me.”

 

“I will. Thank again Dr. Julian, goodnight.” John locked the door behind the doctor. Turning around he saw Sherlock standing there.

 

“You have new bruises.”

 

“Maybe. It could be that they just hadn’t manifested yet when you seen me last.”

 

“Hmm, maybe. Come along John, I’ve run you some bath water so you can soak.”

 

“That was very thoughtful of you Sherlock. Thank you.”

 

“I’ll be in the bedroom if you need anything” he said.

 

John went in the bathroom, he finished undressing and climbed in the water gingerly. He really was in pain, but he hadn’t wanted Sherlock to worry. Closing his eyes and reclining back against the tub John sighed. This felt wonderful.

 

“John.”

 

John didn’t know how long he had been lying there, but the water had gone cold and Sherlock was standing in the bathroom in his pyjamas. He held a big fluffy towel open.

 

“Come on John, you need to get out before you drown.”

 

John stood, stretching experimentally, testing his soreness. Between the medicine and the soak he felt 100 times better. Climbing out of the tub he allowed Sherlock to wrap the big towel around his shoulders. It was more like a small blanket, it covered all of him with plenty of towel left over.

 

Sherlock led him into the room there were pyjamas laid out on the bed for him. “Get dressed and I’ll handle the bathroom.”

 

John was grateful for Sherlock. He was so tired. He must’ve fallen asleep in the tub. He got dressed and climbed into the bed. John laid on his side, one led extended straight and the top one curled up. He placed one arm under his pillow and the other lay next to his face. A few moments later the lights turn off and he felt the bed dip as Sherlock climbed in behind him.

 

Sherlock snuggled in close to John’s back, relaxing one arm across his hips. He kissed the shorter man on the back of the neck telling him goodnight.


	23. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now it's time to say goodbye...

Sherlock had agreed to stay one more day in the hotel so that John could get at least one day of uninterrupted rest. Sherlock made him stay in bed all day. Dr. Julian even came up to the room again to give him another dose of pain medicine. Even Liam stopped by.

 

"I know you two aren't exactly far away, but knowing I can't just pop up on ya a couple blocks away, kind of makes me sad."

 

Sherlock smiled one of his smiles usually reserved for Mrs. Hudson. "You can pop up on us anytime Liam."

 

Liam let out an ear splitting squeal, "Eeeeek! Really? Oh gosh I am so sorry Sherly." Sherlock was holding his ears and frowning. 

 

"Really. We'll even have a spare bedroom if you want to stay over." John added. 

 

"Well doll, I've got to get ready to head into work, my shift starts soon. Here is my number, please keep in touch." Liam handed Sherlock a business card.

 

_**Beauty and Brains** _

_**Liam Wilder** _

_**Expert Makeup Consultant** _

 

Sherlock looked up at Liam, "Curiouser and curiouser."

 

"I gotta make make my living somehow. Later." Liam left out blowing a kiss at the men.

 

But now they were back home. Mrs. Hudson had left a note letting them know she was out of town visiting her sister. Lestrade was sitting across from them in their sitting room. He had heard all about the near misses with John.

 

John was sitting in his chair, repeating the story to Lestrade. Sherlock had been in the kitchen fetching Lestrade a drink. When he came back in the room he was empty handed.

 

“Uh Sherlock, where is Lestrade's drink?”

 

Sherlock made dismissive hand gestures and replied, “I don’t know where Mrs. Hudson keeps all that...stuff.”

 

John sighed and went to get up, Sherlock fixed him with a stare. John settled back into his seat. “I apologize Greg. Sherlock is incompetent and I am suppose to be on bed rest of sorts. And my nurse here will have my arse if I disobey.”

 

“No worries. I just wanted to come by and check on you, to see for myself that you were okay. I'm glad that you are and that you caught the guy. I will just be going and let you get your rest.” John and Sherlock said good bye.

 

Sherlock was bent over kissing John, with John’s hand buried in his hair when Lestrade walked back in.

 

“Sorry I left m-” Lestrade stopped talking. Sherlock straighten up, his face was red but his look said he dared Lestrade to say something.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to barge back in here. I left my hat and scarf there on the couch.” He pointed as if he had to prove to them that he really had left it. “So, uh you two…”

 

“Yes.” Sherlock replied. “Wait, are we what? Say it Lestrade.”

 

“Shagging?”

 

“What!? No. Not yet.”

 

“But you’re an item now?”

 

“Yes. Graham. We’re dating.”

 

“Greg!” Lestrade looked at them and shrugged. Grabbing his scarf and hat he left their flat.

 

“I suppose we should start locking the door now.” John surmised.

 

“That may be a good ideal.”

 

There was a knock on the door. Sherlock walked to the door opening it. It was Lestrade again. He was turning his hat in his hands and looking at his feet.

 

“Yes?” Sherlock asked, clearly peeved.

 

“Umm, not that it's any of my business but, how long have y’all been, ahem, dating?”

 

“As you said, it’s none of your business.”

 

“A week.” John answered from his seat.

 

“Ah. Congratulations then.” Lestrade nodded at Sherlock and walked off for the third time.

 

Closing the door once again Sherlock asked John how he was feeling.

 

“I’m fine. I told you I was feeling way better. I could’ve gotten Lestrade the damn drink.”

 

“That may be true, but you have a broken rib. You shouldn't be doing anything. It will take a while for it to heal. You’re a doctor, you know this.”

 

“Yes Sherlock, _I_ am a doctor and I know that some activity will not hurt. And it will actually help the muscles not atrophy. And keep bed sores from forming. Would you want to lay next to me with little sores bleeding all over me?”

 

“We have two rooms. It wouldn’t be an issue.”

 

John just looked at Sherlock. _Unbelievable._

 

There was a knock on the door. _Not Lestrade._ Sherlock thought, _the cadence of the knock was different as well as the weight of the hand knocking. No. Not a hand the sound was much too hollow sounding. The person used an object to knock then. Mycroft._

 

“Good day Mycroft.” Sherlock said as he opened the door. “To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you again so soon?”

 

“Hello dear brother. Hello John.”

 

“Hello Mycroft.”

 

“I just came by to see how you were fairing. To make sure you hadn’t found anymore trouble before coming home.”

 

“You would know before even us if we had found more trouble as you put it. Cut the crap Mycroft why are you _really_ here?” Sherlock demanded.

 

John stood up. “Sherlock. Shut up.”

 

“Sherlock looked down at John sharply. “What? Why?”

 

“Thank you Mycroft for coming by.” John said standing next to Sherlock.

 

“What in the world are you tha-” Sherlock began.

 

“Shut up Sherlock!”

 

“As always brother mine, you are totally oblivious. Good day John. Sherlock.” Mycroft saw himself out, closing the door behind him.

 

Sherlock turned to John, expecting an explanation.

 

“Your brother came by because he was worried.”

 

“Why? What I said was true, he would know if something else had happened to us.”

 

“Cause he cares about you. And sometimes when you care about somebody you have see with your own eyes that they are okay even though logically you know they are okay. Even though you may have just saw them.”

 

Sherlock was quiet.

 

“Mycroft really does care about you Sherlock. And he really would have hunted Hugh down had he succeeded in killing you. It’s just you and he have a weird way of showing your affections.”

 

Sherlock turned to John pulling him into his arms. “How is this weird?” He asked lowering his head he kissed John.

 

John smiled against Sherlock’s lips, “I don’t know, I’m sure there is something. Do it again and I’m sure I’ll be able to tell you what it is.”

 

Sherlock, smiling now as well kissed John again.

 

“Nope, still can’t put my finger on it. You’ll have to do better than that Sherlock.”  Both men were laughing now.

 

“I love you John.”

 

John stopped laughing. He looked up at Sherlock in amazement. “I love you too Sherlock.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Join me next time on The Great Adventure's of Johnlock!
> 
> The end was a bit short, but otherwise I would have kept going and going and -


End file.
